


Let Me Hear You Whisper

by Scancrasher



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 93,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scancrasher/pseuds/Scancrasher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At some insistence from Starscream, Megatron has finally decided to choose a bondmate. His choice comes as a surprise to the majority of his troops... as well as his Intended. Megatron/Soundwave. In-progress. Written for tfanonkink. Details inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This fic was written for tfanonkink! The kink included surprise bonding, some extended seduction, and, of course, Megatron pursuing Soundwave. I have a feeling this one MIGHT end up a little long. Let's see where it ends up, eh? Also, this will obviously eventually work itself up to an M rating. It isn't there yet, but I'll go ahead and stick it there so that nobody begins this fic unaware of my intentions.
> 
> It will eventually contain (in no particular order): Eventual sparkmerging, a mix of sticky and plug'n'play methods of interface, pissy Starscream, shameless debauchery, Gratuitous Capitalization, tentacles, humor (hopefully), eventual mechpreg(well, I'll mainly be focusing on the impregnation… process… but chapters containing such will have addition warnings), a bit of fluff here and there, Knock Out being Knock Out, a handful of light side-pairings, and a Vehicon named Steve.
> 
> I'll also be combining material from the entire Aligned continuity, meaning the game War for Cybertron as well as the two novels by Alex Irvine; there are some contradictions between these two mediums and the Prime show, but they are all part of the same continuity family. I'll do my best not to confuse anyone who hasn't read them with my Author's Notes. The first thing I think I should clarify before reading is that, for the purpose of this story, Frenzy and Rumble were, at one time, Soundwave's symbionts. But we'll get into what happened to them later.
> 
> For handy reference, this chapter contains the following squicks:
> 
> **None! Unless you hate rock formations.**
> 
> OKAY SO my future author's notes will not be so long-winded, I promise; I just wanna make sure we're all on the same page before I jump in. :) Here we go!
> 
> This is obviously a repost since I'm here on Archive of Our Own. Hopefully it won't do all the annoying things ff.net likes to do with my formatting. BV

**Let Me Hear You Whisper**

Prologue

It had started with talks, and Starscream had initiated them. The crew at large didn't know what he was planning, at first; they only knew that the Second-in-Command suddenly needed much of his Lord's time. Soundwave knew from the beginning, of course, because watching, listening, and… well,  _knowing_  was simply what he  _did._ If asked to summarize the discussions neatly, the Communications Officer would actually find himself hard-pressed to, and not just because words were not his forte. The nature of the talks had been abstract, the subjects myriad and the digressions meandering, but it eventually boiled down to a few key things.

First of all, Megatron had nearly died (Technically that was incorrect; He  _had_  died, but had been preserved by the mysterious power of Dark Energon). His death had left more than a void in the Decepticon ranks--it had left a void in the Decepticon  _ideal_. Starscream had noticed this from the very beginning. There had been a lack of respect, of  _discipline,_ in the days that had followed Megatron's fall.

Second of all, Megatron's return had restored order, but it had not restored vigor. His crew obeyed him and feared him, but their crushing near-defeat had left a lingering demoralization that not even Megatron's miraculous resurrection could mend. They needed to be reminded of who they were, of where they came from.

Third of all, the Decepticon cause required an heir. Soundwave knew that it had been difficult for Starscream to admit that one could not simply assume control of the Decepticon ranks; he had tried, after having been in a position of power for eons, and had failed. They needed more than a commander. They needed a  _presence._

The culmination of these points had brought Starscream to suggest, of all things, a Bonding, which was quite an audacious thing to do. Soundwave knew how to read Megatron's subtler expressions, and had almost been amused by the slight narrowing of his Lord's eyes, the sudden tenseness in his frame. Bonding, Starscream had insisted, solved the latter two problems. It was an ancient Cybertronian custom, something that would reconnect the crews with their lost origins. It would also lead the way to producing an heir, someone who could carry on his progenitors' work even if the worst befell Megatron and his Intended.

Soundwave could also deduce that Starscream had brought up Megatron's near-deactivation as a reminder of the warlord's mortality. Megatron was nearly unstoppable, but he was  _not_  immortal. It was a cunning strategy, but Soundwave knew that Megatron's aversion to something like a Bonding would outweigh any fear he had of leaving no legacy aside from his cause behind. To Bond with another would be to imply equality. Bonding was an act that opened two sparks to one another, that merged their harmonies permanently. Megatron was too proud to consent to equality with  _anyone_ and too savage to share the innermost spark-frequencies with another individual.

So it came as a great surprise to the Third in Command when Megatron, after weeks of plying from Starscream, agreed.

Needless to say, it initially caused quite a stir amongst the crew. A bonding was something most of the  _Nemesis's_ complement of drones had never even seen before, as the majority of them had been created after the start of the great Cybertronian War. Speculation ran wild as to who Megatron would choose for the momentous task of becoming his Bondmate. Everyone suspected that it would be an officer, but nobody knew who. Soundwave was aware of the cross-chatter, be it simple dialogue between Cybertronians or more sophisticated electronic means of communication. It was, as always, part of his job to know.

Everyone was preparing for the ceremony. Even if there was no suspicion as to a particular mech or femme's chances, the choosing ceremony was no joke, and anything but the most pristine of conditions during the event would indicate lack of respect for the Cybertronian choosing a Bondmate. Everyone knew what they could expect if they openly disrespected their Lord.

"Besides," Soundwave heard Knock Out say one night, when he was finishing up his tasks in the medbay with the help of his lumbering assistant, "you really never know."

He had seen Breakdown frown at that (from the vantage point of the Nemesis's security feeds), his single optic narrowing slightly. He couldn't tell if this was from nervousness that  _he_  might be chosen (though Breakdown was loyal, Soundwave knew he would not welcome such advances from Megatron), or if it was worry that Knock Out might find himself in their Lord's crosshairs (everyone knew that Breakdown and Knock Out had a  _thing_  going; just what that  _thing_ was, Soundwave couldn't precisely say).

Starscream was barely tolerable. The Seeker was full of himself at the worst of times, and now he strutted about the Nemesis as if he already  _had_  been chosen. Though Starscream was a tidy mech, he was never one to preen to the extent that their Chief Medical Officer did. Now, Starscream gleamed wherever he walked. This was beyond respect. This was the look of a mech that expected himself to be put into the spotlight. If anyone was annoyed by this, they hid it well. After all, Starscream outranked everyone except Megatron himself. Soundwave personally did not care  _what_  the Seeker did in his free time. If he wanted to buff himself to a glittering shine, let him.

Airachnid alone seemed unconcerned with the whole affair. When questioned by Knock Out during a routine medical exam, the femme laughed softly from where she was reclined, her extra limbs splayed for the doctor to examine. Knock out was testing the small joints with surprising delicacy, and the effect was clearly relaxing for her. It must have felt rather like a massage. "First and foremost, I am not his type. Besides, Megatron knows me too well. I am certain he is aware that I would be resistant to a bond like that. It's too… confining."

"I never would have pinned you for the 'fear-of-commitment' sort." Knock Out grinned, only now glancing her way, his words laden with sarcasm.

Airachnid took it in stride and gave a predatory grin. "He knows I would never be satisfied by just  _one_  mech." She fixed a pointed stare first at Knock Out, and then at Breakdown. The Chief Medical Officer's eyes widened and he blinked slowly, glancing briefly to Breakdown, who looked as much like a deer caught in the headlights as an enormous burly mech  _could._

Soundwave decided to suspend his monitoring of the medical bay for now; he really did  _not_ need to hear what came next. As such, he missed the second half of the conversation, which cropped up some fifteen minutes later.

"Just what  _do_ you think his type is?" Knock Out asked, glancing between Airachnid and Breakdown and clearly enjoying the sight of his fierce, imposing companion looking more and more awkward by the moment.

Airachnid stopped leering at Breakdown long enough to return her attention to Knock Out. "It's rather obvious. Steadfast, loyal… and above all, quiet."

Realization lit in the medic's unusual red optics. "You aren't saying…?"

"That he might skip Seconds and jump straight into Thirds? That is  _exactly_ what I am saying. You can count on it."

Knock Out cocked his head. For a moment his expression was blank and thoughtful. Then, a wicked grin lit his features. "You want to  _bet?"_

Elsewhere on the ship the initial excitement of the Bonding had quite died down. On the crew's deck, the drones were going about their business. Drone correspondence was not something that Soundwave monitored heavily. First of all, there were just so  _many_  things being said, either verbally, or though silent electronic means, or through the subtle shifting of EM fields. Soundwave  _could_  handle it,  _could_ carefully pick apart each delicate string in the tangled web of communication, but it would require his absolute focus.

The second and more important reason was that much of what they had to say was unimportant.

He did a cursory sweep, just to make sure thoughts of sedition weren't seeping into the processors of the troops, but as usual, he only came away with rather banal conversation. A group of miners was having a discussion over the unusual formations of Earth rock they'd seen at their last dig. A flying Eradicon was weighing the pros and cons of a decent wax job with a groundling Vehicon. Shifts were being swapped or coordinated. Battle scars were being shown. A swaggering Vehicon was telling a tale of (likely largely false) derring-do about an exciting chase he'd had on his last scouting patrol, to an amusingly rapt audience. A formation of Eradicons were playing an Earth game of chance involving dice. A mixed group of drones were watching a film on a vid. Soundwave quickly traced the film's origins to make sure it contained material he was comfortable wouldn't effect the drones' dedication to their duty.

The title was not forthcoming ( _Kung Pow!_ meant nothing to Soundwave) but after watching approximately thirty minutes of the film, the Third in Command deemed it harmless.

The drones were largely unaffected by the atmosphere in the ship. That was to be expected; they were just drones, and there was virtually no chance of any of them having any significant role in the bonding ceremony. Soundwave himself was a little surprised at how…  _normal_  everything seemed that night. Maybe it said something about how far they'd come from their roots that the prospect of an honest-to-Primus  _Bonding_  sparked little more than medbay gossip.

A ping from Laserbeak distracted him, and Soundwave immediately altered his patrol. The mech silently made his way towards the topmost deck of the  _Nemesis_ andstepped outside. On the  _Nemesis_ 's dorsal plating, there was a broad, flat expanse open to the sky, but shielded through electromagnetic means from the worst of the wind. Their ship was drifting over the Pacific Ocean, and below there was nothing but sea to behold. Laserbeak was returning from some last-minute reconnaissance in Japan.

Soundwave stood quietly, letting the slight tug of the wind cool his components. His armor lifted itself from his protoform slightly, allowing the cold air to slide underneath, brushing the wires and bare metal with an almost liquid caress. Soundwave allowed his thoughts to drift. He could not really blame anyone for taking the Bonding lightly. Most of the Decepticons knew of such niceties only as stories, anyway.  _He_ had certainly never witnessed anything as raw and tender in the Gladiator Pits. Bonding was simply something that happened to someone else. It wasn't a stretch of the imagination to assume that half of the crew earnestly believed they would never find a Bondmate.

His thoughts were interrupted, because another mech was approaching. Soundwave could sense him through the deck. He half-turned, quietly turning the signal over in his processor, and was somewhat surprised to discern the presence of his Lord. There was no cause for alarm if Megatron was coming here. He turned away from the hatch, staring off into the night in the direction from which Laserbeak would be arriving. Behind him, he heard the slide of metal, and then the heavy footsteps of Megatron. They carried the warlord to his side.

He swiveled his face towards his leader, who was not looking at him, but rather staring out into the darkness with narrowed optics. His thoughts were clearly turned inward, his EM field tightly-coiled and radiating rapid, pensive frequencies. "Soundwave. You are aware the preliminary stages of the ceremony begin tomorrow?"

Soundwave rarely spoke, even to Megatron. He preferred to communicate either through replayed transmissions, or through wireless bursts of information. Words could be twisted, could be misconstrued; raw data could not. Besides, Soundwave was used to keeping council with his symbionts above all others. Before he had met Megatron, before he had been given any _one_  or any _thing_ to believe in, Soundwave had had them.

An unfamiliar twist of pain went through the normally-stoic Third's Spark. They were gone, now. Most of them, anyway. He responded to Megatron smoothly and wirelessly, sending him an affirmative burst.

"I am not looking forward to it," Megatron growled, "It is too decadent for my tastes, too reminiscent of everything the old Cybertron stood for." Soundwave privately thought it appropriate that Megatron would be instinctively disgusted by a ceremony designed to highlight what he must have thought was weakness, but he did not share this thought. "I will shorten it. This is, after all, a Decepticon bonding."

Soundwave sent another wireless burst to his Lord. In it he indicated that Starscream would undoubtedly be displeased with Megatron's altering of the Bonding.

Megatron laughed, low and booming in the windswept silence above the  _Nemesis._  "He will adjust. Starscream will be doing  _much_ of that in the weeks to come."

Soundwave took this as confirmation to what everyone suspected. So, Megatron would be taking his Second in Command as a bondmate. It wasn't terribly surprising news. The two of them had chemistry that, while not romantic, was dynamic and at times volatile. Soundwave did not understand why those situations could and sometimes  _would_ result in mutual attraction, but it was not his job to understand why Megatron pursued his Intended.

The Third in Commander raised a long arm silently and smoothly as Laserbeak finally approached, curving a neat arc through the air to perch on her master's arm. Soundwave drew his symbiont close, allowing a moment's diversion to gently trace his spindly fingers over the leading edge of his faithful spy's wing.

He didn't mind that Megatron saw. Megatron knew that the bond between Soundwave and his symbionts was strong. Soundwave did not consider his attachment to Laserbeak and Ravage a weakness. After witnessing what Soundwave had done to the last Cybertronian to harm one of his symbionts, neither did Megatron.

Megatron watched silently, his expression unreadable. If Soundwave reached out, he knew he could delve into his Lord's very thoughts, but he respected Megatron far too much for that. "You will need to be present tomorrow," Megatron said quite suddenly, "of course."

Soundwave turned his blank screen towards Megatron and nodded once, decisively, respectfully. Then, to his surprise, Megatron grinned at him, an expression that blended amusement with something unusually predatory. There was a glint in his eye that Soundwave recognized: that was the look that meant Megatron knew something that everyone else didn't. Had it been any other situation with any other being, Soundwave would have been suspicious of the situation, of that look.

Not so with Megatron.

Without a word of farewell, Megatron turned and left. Soundwave returned his attention to Laserbeak, who made a series of low-pitched beeps to communicate her appreciation. The Communications Chief trailed his fingers over his small symbiont's angular back again. It wouldn't hurt to remain out there a little longer with the night and the wind.

After all, it was a big day tomorrow.


	2. Pomp and Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE REPOST CONTINUES. This chapter contains minor spoilers for the Alex Irvine Novels Exodus and Exiles. This chapter is also a bit OC-heavy, my apologies on that, but these little goofballs are inserted as means to move further plot elements along!
> 
> Squicks in this chapter: None, unless you find a shocking disregard for sacred scripture squicky. Or soot-covered Vehicons.
> 
> OH MY GOODNESS I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS TO THE WRONG FIC ORIGINALLY??? my apologies oops

 

**Chapter One: Pomp and Circumstance**

The Decepticons understood that, in many ways, it was going to be an important day. To the officers and prominent crewmen, things would change forever after today. There were also those that understood that, in some ways, today would also be more or less like every other day. The maintenance staff had a full set of tasks to run that required their attention. When officers spoke of important events, events that "everyone" was required to attend, this group knew that they were not included in this "everyone."

There was one Vehicon in particular who was annoyed to be left out of the ceremony.

Vehicons had no standard for naming one another. Some went by serial numbers, some picked up human names (most often from Earth broadcasts, which the drones had rather taken to), and some of them were named in a more traditional Cybertronian manner. Though they were more or less of uniform size and shape, each drone was a sparked individual with personal proclivities. VC-527, for instance, was a walking database of information. He helped keep track of the maintenance crew's inventory, recording, dispersing, and re-assigning their limited materials. He had a knack for remembering what went where, and a wealth of experience in making their little section of the  _Nemesis_  run smoothly and efficiently. Eventually someone had gotten it into their processor to name him, and he had been dubbed Switchgear.

His thirst for knowledge extended well past his official duties. In particular, he was interested in the lost culture of Cybertron. "Interested" was not perhaps the most correct term to use: the mech's attention bordered on the obsessive. He had been manufactured well towards the end of the war, and he had never known the great cities spoken of by his comrades, or the complicated political dance that had preceded Lord Megatron's glorious revolution. It held an undeniable mystique in Switchgear's processor, and when he heard that, of all things, a Bonding ceremony was to take place, he had become quite excited. He knew that he could be spared from his duties if someone would switch shifts with him. During calm days, he was more or less a glorified switchboard operator.

The time to find someone had come and gone with no success, though, and so, hours before dawn, before the initial phases of the ceremony, Switchgear stood in the dark room that served as his unofficial office. It was silent except for the low, all-pervading hum of the servers installed there and dark except for the dim glow that emitted from a bank of screens at the far end of the room. The Vehicon had resigned himself to his fate, and consoled himself with the knowledge that someone, somewhere, would record the ceremony, even if it wasn't technically good etiquette to do so. Starscream would probably want to watch his moment of glory over and over again, after all.

The door to his room hissed unexpectedly open, and he turned, startled at the interruption. Two Vehicons had entered the room, one of them leading the other. The first Vehicon he recognized as one of his fellow maintenance crew workers. His coworker was leading a dejected-looking fellow whose designation eluded him. "Hey, Switch," his coworker greeted him. "You wanted to go see the ceremony today, right?"

Switchgear nodded silently. He'd made it no secret how excited he'd been about it.

"Well, it's your lucky day." The maintenance bot patted his unenthusiastic friend on the shoulder. "I found someone who's willing to switch with you."

Switchgear immediately perked up. "Really? You don't mind missing it?"

The hitherto-silent Vehicon shook his head. "Not really," he replied. He definitely seemed quite downcast, though Switchgear could not fathom why.

Switchgear cocked his head. "Are you quite sure you'll know how to do all of this? I don't expect we'll have any nasty surprises today, but all the same..." he looked uncertainly back to the myriad panels lining the walls. He was glad to have the opportunity to see the ceremony with his own optic, but at the same time, he didn't want to be presumed a slacker. Slackers didn't last long, and neither did those who willingly put their work in the hands of those incapable of completing it properly.

"Yeah, sure. Steve filled in with you when you went on extended patrol, don't you remember?" his coworker prodded gently.

Switchgear took a closer look at the dejected bot. "Oh. Of course. Sorry, Steve, I did not quite recognize you. Did you get buffed out?"

Steve nodded. "Took a few shots at the last battle." He was certainly looking newer and less scruffy than he had been for a while. Vehicons were rarely subject to such luxuries, except in the case of damage that needed to be immediately repaired. Normally such a state of affairs would put a drone in a good mood, but Steve clearly wasn't. Oh, well. Switchgear figured that his was not to question why.

"Very well! Thank you very much, Steve. I owe you a favor," Switchgear said, nodding and stepping aside to let his comrade trudge up to the screens against the wall. "If there is anything you cannot handle, you may comm me, if you wish." He paused. "And you're  _absolutely_  certain? I mean, it's bound to be--"

"Yep, he's absolutely certain." Much to Switchgear;'s surprise, his coworker quite suddenly grabbed him by the arm and dragged him forcibly away from Steve, who was inspecting the screens and getting his bearings. The maintenance worker drew him out into the hallway and released him as soon as the door had hissed shut behind him. "Primus, Switch! For a smart guy you can sure be dumb sometimes."

Switchgear was baffled and a little offended. "That was not called-for--"

"It's  _Steve_ , you idiot. Of  _course_  he doesn't want to go to the bonding ceremony!" The maintenance worker put his hands on his hips. "You think he wants to watch Starscream get himself promised to Megatron for good?"

Switchgear tilted his head sharply. "Oh." A pause. "Well, that certainly makes a great deal of sense, now that I think about it."

"Yeah, it does. C'mon, let's go. We've got some time to get polished up a little." He glanced back at the closed door. "And give poor Steve some dignity."

* * *

Soundwave woke slowly.

The alert system Soundwave used to wake him was unusually sophisticated. Suddenly jarring from recharge into awareness was not an unusual way for any Cybertronian to start the day, but because Soundwave's consciousness was tethered to other sentient creatures, he found that waking gradually, letting different sensory systems slowly boot themselves up one by one, was the best way to gently ease himself into awareness without confusing or alarming his symbionts. Even though they were mostly gone now, it was still his preferred method to wake from slumber.

Slowly the world faded into focus around him, and Soundwave stretched groggily, opening his chest compartment to allow his tentacles to slither forth, winding against one another as they flexed in sinuous, lazy loops, working out the night-time stiffness that had settled in them. Reeling them back in, Soundwave sat up, and even before his feet his the floor, he was jacked into the Nemesis's data grid, absorbing reports of the night's activities. The ship's mechanical systems were running smoothly, and all patrols had reported in on time. Overnight the course had been veered towards South America, and they could expect to reach it by nightfall.

Also, Lord Megatron was going to announce his Intended and begin courting a Bondmate. That was kind of important, too.

Soundwave ran a diagnostic on Laserbeak and Ravage as he made his way to his private wash-racks. His feline companion was very rarely deployed these days. Anyone looking for Ravage would have trouble discerning the feline's shape in the dark, smoky surface of Soundwave's armor. Soundwave surmised than many of his fellow officers weren't even sure whether or not Ravage was still with him. He didn't mind. Megatron knew and Starscream knew. That was all that mattered.

Soundwave was a tidy mech, but he was not known to preen, so his preparations before the ceremony were minimal at best. The matte surface of his armor did not lend itself to a shine without hours of buffing and a painstakingly-applied coat of wax, so he'd never really tried. He  _was_  sure to carefully polish the Decepticon emblems on his shoulder-armor, though. He flexed his arm and watched them catch the light through a security camera he'd installed in his own quarters (it never hurt to check in while he wasn't there, after all). There. That should be suitably respectful.

All in all it was a scene of calm domesticity in Soundwave's abode. He knew that after today things would be dramatically different, but he didn't honestly perceive that there would be many changes in his duties. He would watch Starscream as closely as he could without intruding on the courtship. Hopefully the combination of the success of his plans and Megatron's attention would calm the Seeker somewhat. Starscream should be honored to be chosen, even if he flouted his lack of respect for Lord Megatron. Soundwave couldn't imagine how  _anyone_  wouldn't be honored.

There was no time for that sort of thinking now, though; all that was left was to watch the ceremony and then prepare himself for what came next. He would continue to guard his leader as loyally as he ever had. Soundwave was of like mind, though he did not know it, with the _Nemesis_ 's maintenance crew. After today, everything would be different... but some things never really changed.

He left his quarters and headed for the bridge.

* * *

The bridge had two levels—a long walkway that arced through the center of the vast room, and the galleries below. Naturally, the drones were to watch the ceremony from below. The air on the lowest level was certainly less solemn than it was on the upper deck. The drones were milling about, talking to one another as they waited for things to get underway, dully curious, but mostly confused by all the hullabaloo.

"So," an Eradicon asked, staring up at the bridge, "they're gonna... uh, Bond right here?"

"No," Switchgear, who happened to be nearby, cut in, " _goodness_  no. This is only the very beginning." His voice settled into the smooth, easy cadence that characterized a long explanation, and the maintenance worker at his side vented in resignation. "Here, our Lord will announce his Intended and receive permission to court. Well, traditionally, of course, one hopes that his or her Intended accepts the proposal of courtship, but I do not think anyone would turn down Lord Megatron."

The Eradicon who had asked the question paused. "And  _then_  they're gonna Bond...?" he asked uncertainly.

"Well, if the courtship goes smoothly, I should think so. I am certain it is all a formality, at any rate. Rumor has it that this was all Starscream's idea in first place, so I doubt he will make make Lord Megatron work too hard for his prize." Switchgear paused. "But then again, it  _is_  Starscream..."

Above, the officers had already gathered, and were waiting the arrival of Megatron. He was not late, but he was cutting it close. Knock Out stood with his hands folded nonchalantly behind his back, a half-smirk on his pale face, while Breakdown stared off into the middle distance, bored out of his processor. Airachnid was idly examining the tips of her talons. Starscream was standing tall, his wings perked, his body giving off a brittle metallic shine where the overhead lights struck the sharp angles that characterized his form. Soundwave was standing in his usual semi-hunched position, utterly still.

A hiss behind them announced the timely arrival of their Lord. As one, each officer turned. Megatron was striding towards them, his eyes narrowed slightly, his movements unhurried and self-assured. His presence fell upon the crowd of drones like a lead weight, and they fell silent and still under the pressure of it, staring up at the Cybertronian that they had been created to serve. The officers parted, and Megatron made his leisurely way to the end of the causeway. He had deactivated the viewscreens at the end of the chamber. They remained blank and dead, but nobody supposed that Megatron would need them to command the attention of his troops.

As the officers assumed their original positions, now standing at attention, Megatron folded his arms behind his back. He said nothing for a few long moments, but merely stood, head bowed. Nobody stirred. It was more than just fear that was commanding the silent obedience of most of those present. This was Megatron, the mech who had dragged himself out of the desolate mining pits of Cybertron, who had clawed his way to superiority primarily on his own strength alone. He wasn't just a Decepticon. He was  _the_  Decepticon, and he was about to do something that would alter his life forever.

Nobody begrudged him if he needed a few moments to get his thoughts in order.

"Traditionally..." He spoke suddenly, startling a few present; his voice carried well, even if he wasn't speaking particularly loud. "A Bonding ceremony begins with a ritual recitation of scriptures said to have been recorded in the glorious days of the Thirteen. That will  _not_..." He turned to face his officers, his somewhat distracted gaze shifting into razor-keen focus. "Be happening today."

There was very little reaction, though Starscream's wingtips did give an annoyed twitch. Knock Out briefly exchanged glances with Breakdown. The looked that passed between them meant, simply,  _"I told you so."_

"Those of you that have served underneath me for any respectable length of time know that I find such trivialities tiresome. Decadent. We are Decepticons. We do not have time for such overly-sentimental nonsense." His gaze traveled between each of his officers as he spoke, never lingering on one for very long. "Therefore, I will paraphrase. It has always been the intent of the Decepticon Empire to cut out the rot of Cybertronian society and preserve only that which need preserving." He began to walk forward, and the officers obligingly parted ranks for him once more, but he hesitated just beyond them.

"Bondmates must fulfill three duties to one another. The first duty is desire. This Bonding must be mutual, else it shall not hold. I do not have the patience for failures and wasted time. Therefore, I urge my Intended not to hesitate to let me know if this is not wanted. Desire is a very... simple word, but the concept it implies is not. It goes... beyond physical attraction."

The officers, at this point, had their best poker faces on. Airachnid's was probably the winner, followed closely by Soundwave (which was a testament to her skill at manipulation, given that Soundwave had a screen for a face). Megatron seemed content to let his explanation of the first duty end there. It stood to reason that he wouldn't want to focus on the fact that an emotional connection would need to be made for the Bond to succeed. Nobody could ever imagine Megatron speaking openly about  _love_ , or anything like it.

Megatron vented deeply and began to walk forward slowly, speaking as he did to the officers lined on either side of him. "The second duty of a Bondmate is protection. The scriptures describes this as possibly the most important duty. Bondmates preserve one another's Spark, not just from physical harm, but from the traps of dependency and self-injury. To protect one another is to achieve harmony. To achieve balance. I will settle for nothing less than such."

He paused in the middle of the ranks. He flicked a talon at his shoulder, a wordless signal to Soundwave, who stepped up behind him. Nobody was particularly surprised (though, once again, Starscream did betray a hint of annoyance). Soundwave was more or less Megatron's personal archivist. Of course he would want his loyal Third at his back, preserving this moment. Megatron continued to walk forward, until he turned to face his officers again, who swiveled to face him and once more closed ranks. His constant repositioning was keeping them on their toes and holding their utmost attention.

It was probably done on purpose. Soundwave took his place behind Megatron's shoulder, patiently waiting. One mech had already been eliminated from the ranks of his officers, and the remaining few had the entirety of their focus trained on their Lord.

"The third duty is to provide. Bondmates fulfill one another's needs, whatever they may be. Once again, the scriptures go into extensive and tiresome detail about the consequences of ignoring such. A Bondmate must be perceptive and know when to step in. To provide is to sometimes take matters into one's own hands, of course. In this respect, my Intended will be given a certain amount of... authority. Trusting that it will not be abused," he added lowly, "is part of the Bonding process."

By now Megatron had everyone's rapt attention. Even the more disinterested drones were staring up, silent, riveted, awed by the power of their Lord's low rumbling words. Megatron stared at his officers, carefully taking in their expressions. "These things must be understood before I announce my Intended. Accepting this offer of courtship is by no means resigning oneself to a Bonding. It is merely..." The Decepticon leader put his head to one side thoughtfully, and very slowly, he grinned. "The opening act."

He nodded, apparently satisfied that he had fulfilled his duties to his Intended, and very abruptly turned on his heel. Soundwave took a half-step back, startled by the gesture (a rare occurrence). Before he could move to one side to reposition himself at his Lord's back, Megatron reached out and stopped him, grazing those terrible and powerful claws briefly against his Third in Command's arm, just under the gleaming Decepticon emblem. "Soundwave."

* * *

Soundwave froze.

"The first time I saw you, you were trying to kill me." Megatron was speaking quite calmly, but his stare was unbearably intense. The Third in Command remained where he stood, startled and confused and not quite sure what was happening. He didn't have time to gather his wits, though, because Megatron was speaking again and required his full attention. "You failed, but so also did I fail to kill  _you._  It was the first and only stalemate I ever experienced in the Kaon Gladiator pits. The moment I realized I could not defeat you was the moment I first understood that I could have an equal, that there could be others like me. That there could be a movement. Then, I believe, is when the Decepticon cause was truly born."

Behind him, Airachnid grinned and glanced to Knock Out, who was staring back at her with a wry smile. Breakdown was trying to be subtle as he looked to Starscream, but he needn't try, because the Seeker only had eyes for what was happening right in front of him. His mouth had half-dropped open and his wings were hiked up high and aggressively.

Soundwave stared back at Megatron and said nothing. A slow, creeping realization was seeping into his processor. He couldn't mean... no. Surely not...?

Megatron apparently didn't need his input to continue. "You have served at my side since and have been nothing short of an exemplary soldier and officer. You are dedicated and you are useful. You have never wronged me." He paused, apparently considering what else should be said. Coming up with nothing, he gave a short nod. Megatron was known to be charismatic, and was certainly well-versed at public speaking, but this was not the sort of thing he was used to. "I request your permission to engage courtship," he finished, rather less grandly than he had probably been intending to.

Soundwave just stared back, utterly still. The Communications Chief was accustomed to a state of steely mental control under all circumstances. He was used to relying on thinking quickly and logically under duress. Megatron's words had scattered every last thought to the solar winds, though, had left him more utterly dumbfounded than he had ever felt in his life.

Megatron wanted to court him. Megatron...  _wanted_  him.

Soundwave didn't know how to feel about it. Honored, certainly, but mostly just plain surprised. He was heedless of the movement of the drones below—they were respectfully silent, but comming one another in excitement—heedless of the officers standing behind Megatron, heedless of everything except for the knowledge that he was Megatron's Intended, and a sudden and wholly unexpected burst of pride swelled from his spark, followed by an even-stronger and very much expected crush of anxiety.

The anxiety wasn't enough to stop Soundwave from reaching a decision, though. Megatron needed an answer. Soundwave sent him a wireless affirmative burst without thinking. It was only when Megatron cocked an amused brow that he realized he had just accepted his Lord's offer of courtship in the least personal manner possible, and Soundwave, mortified, straightened to deliver a response more befitting the circumstances.

"Yes," he said, simply. It was the first time he had spoken in so very long, the first time that many of the drones below had ever heard his voice at all. It was low, sonorous, overlaid by electric harmonies that made it almost sound as if several Cybertronians were speaking at once. At its core it was a rough sound, but the tones surrounding Soundwave's low rumble made his speech sound less like a voice and more like music given intent. It was strange, yes, but oddly hypnotic to listen to.

Megatron nodded. "Very well." For a moment he just stared at Soundwave, and something in the way he looked at his Third in Command sent a shiver straight through the slim mech. Megatron noticed. His pointed teeth flashed briefly in a grin. Then he turned to face his officers, his expression set, all business once more. "This will not, of course, interfere with our plans to snuff the Autobots' collective sparks once and for all. However, there are certain preparations we must undergo. My Intended will need to be given an examination and briefed on the methods and responsibilities of producing an heir."

Soundwave mentally reeled as realization slammed into the back of his processor. He'd been so shell-shocked by turn of events that he had forgotten that he would be expected to... oh,  _Primus._

Megatron nodded to Knock Out. "See to it that it is done by tomorrow." He then turned to address the gathered Decepticons once more. "The Bonding, if there is to be one, will occur if my Intended and I reach the end of our courtship in accord. The old ways usually specify a set amount of time, but in this instance the courtship will end simply when it does. That is all that truly needs to be said."

Starscream was obviously furious. His frame was rigid and he was glaring at Megatron as if he were trying to pierce the warlord's spark chamber with the strength of his gaze alone. Megatron didn't even so much as glance his way, didn't acknowledge his anger. Instead, the enormous silvery mech turned back to Soundwave, who slowly raised his screen to face Megatron once more.

"You may speak with me whenever you wish," Megatron said quietly. "You are also to take the rest of this solar cycle off to think over matters. If you wish to retract your acceptance at any time before or during the examination, you may." Though Megatron was making an effort to be polite, he was still speaking in a brisk and businesslike fashion, and it confused Soundwave a little. Had he read too much into this? Was this a calculated political move?

He didn't know. He couldn't be sure. Before he could ask, Megatron addressed the gathered drones and his officers once more. "That is all. Return to your stations." And, without waiting a moment longer and with absolute disregard for any sort of respect for the ceremony, he strode away, carrying himself off with the same slow strides by which he had entered.

Silence fell over the bridge.

Up above, the officers were leaving. Starscream was the first to go, stalking across the floor at a quick and angry pace. Soundwave remained where he was, standing utterly still. Knock Out called a languid congratulations to him as he passed. "See you tomorrow."

Soundwave remained where Megatron had left him, still trying to gather his thoughts, still trying to grasp the notion that he was  _in courtship_  with Lord Megatron. Eventually he turned away and went straight for his quarters. He needed to be somewhere private.

After all, there was a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

Down below, the drones were looking to one another. A variety of different things were being said, but there was a general, all-pervasive air of "That's  _it?_ " that lingered in the silences between their words.

"Definitely not a traditional opening to courtship," Switchgear sighed. He was slightly disappointed. "Still, that was an interesting turn of events. I certainly wasn't expecting Soundwave." After a pause, he added, somewhat sullenly, "I don't think the Bonding verses are overly sentimental at  _all._ "

The Eradicon that had expressed curiosity over the ceremony was now standing with his head cocked to one side. He was thinking. It seemed to take considerable effort. There was something important about all of this, something he couldn't quite grasp. The slow machinations of his processor edged inexorably towards a conclusion, and when it finally dawned over him, it did so with a sharp jolt. "Hey, wait. So he didn't choose Starscream."

"No," Switchgear's co-worker replied. "He did not."

"Well, I bet good ol' Steve's happy about that." He had not been privy to the display in Switchgear's server room, but Steve's affection was not really a secret.

The three mechs paused, slowly swiveling their masks to face one another.

Then they hurried off, pushing their way through the crowd, each eager to be the one to bring the good news.

* * *

Steve was grateful that Switchgear had opted to trade places him with. The work he was doing in place of his fellow drone was engaging enough to be distracting without being complex enough to threaten him with failure. He didn't have to think about what was happening. Deep down he had always known that his attraction was really hopeless, and that the notion that Starscream would ever see him as anything else but cannon fodder was probably a pipe dream, but he didn't exactly want his face rubbed in the fact.

He had quite lost track of time when he heard the door whirring open behind him, and a familiar voice called out, "Why Switchgear, you are looking so unusually handsome today. What a good thing I have you all to myself." The speaker's tone was bright and amusingly stilted, as if the speaker were attempting to act and not succeeding very well at it.

Steve didn't have to turn around to know who it was. "Hey, 404. If you're back, I guess it means--" Here he paused, because he had turned, and the sight of his friend's state brought him to an immediate mental halt. "What happened to you?"

404 was a Vehicon, a ground-based vehicle like Steve. He was not much use around the ship, being neither technically inclined nor patient enough for administrative tasks. He was always happiest when he was outside, and that was where Steve had expected him to be, but there he stood, instead. For some reason, he was covered in soot. "They had me cleaning the vents again," 404 muttered. "I'm going to go set up permanent camp in the wash-racks in about half an hour."

Cleaning out the vents was a task reserved for those who had incurred their superiors' displeasure. "What did you do this time?"

"Nothin'," 404 said, trying hard to sound innocent and failing. He crossed over to Steve, throwing an arm around the other's shoulders. "So, how're  _you_ doing?"

"You're getting soot all over me."

"Misery loves company." 404 nudged Steve slightly. It was clear by his tone that he wasn't just talking about the soot situation. "You okay?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah." After a moment, he added, "I'll be fine."

404 nodded again. "Well, you know where to find me if you need anythin'." A pause. "I mean, if I'm on the ship, that is."

Steve was about to reply when the door hissed open again, and three Vehicons tried to squeeze their way into the room at once. Steve and 404 cocked their heads in unison. Switchgear managed to wriggle in first, followed closely by the Eradicon, who banged a wingtip on the door frame and cursed colorfully.

"So it's over," Steve asked softly, "isn't it?"

"Soundwave!" Switchgear blurted.

Steve and 404 glanced to one another, and then back to the three drones. "Yeah," 404 replied slowly, with exaggerated care, "Soundwave. The name sounds familiar. I  _might_  have heard of the guy."

Switchgear's co-worker shook his head. "No, I mean he  _chose_  Soundwave! Megatron wants to Bond with him, not Starscream!"

404 gave a low, wordless whistle, and Steve immediately straightened. "What, really?" he asked, his voice practically humming with joy. Then the implications of what he had just heard sunk in, and when he asked again, he was less joyful and more just plain astonished "Wait- _really_?"

The Eradicon nodded. "Yep. Screamer was pissed, too. You shoulda seen him stomping out of there."

"It is certainly not what we anticipated," Switchgear shrugged, "but I suppose we shouldn't really be too surprised. Starscream is undoubtedly a compelling mech, but he is hardly... stable."

Steve said nothing. He was just staring at them, at a complete loss for words. 404 didn't have that problem. "Well, good for them. Soundwave gets the recognition he deserves and Lord Megatron gets to share a berth with someone who won't try and snuff him while he sleeps. Though, you know, I always kinda thought he was into that sort of thing."

"I just thought you would like to know as soon as possible," Switchgear went on, "I don't suppose this actually changes much for us, does it? Back to the grind and all of that. Oh, well. At least it breaks up the monotony." He looked to Steve, who was still staring into space. "Steve? Are you quite all right?"

"I still have a chance," he murmured.

"I wouldn't... jump to any conclusions," 404 began hesitantly.

"I still have a chance!" Steve was beyond listening. He started to leave, and then stopped abruptly, looking to Switchgear. "Thanks for switching with me," he added, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. Then he looked to 404. "And you... thanks for trying to cheer me up." He turned, puzzled, to Switchgear's coworker and the Eradicon. "And you... just, er, thanks."

"For what?" The Eradicon asked, puzzled. He did not receive an answer, because after that Steve scurried out.

It was easy to tell that their friend was a mech on a mission, and Switchgear shook his head with a little sigh. "Well," he concluded, "at the very least, it gives him something to look forward to, doesn't it?" He trotted across the room to take his rightful place at the end of it, where the screens and the control panels waited for him. "That is all that any one of us could ask for."

"I don't know," the Eradicon rumbled in response, "I wouldn't mind a little high grade sometimes."

"Bigger berth." Switchgear's coworker shrugged.

"A front-end alignment every now and then," 404 chimed in.

Switchgear waved distractedly over his shoulder. "Yes, yes, quite," he murmured, having obviously not heard a single bit of it, "but I have work to do, so if you will please see yourselves out, I would be much obliged."

The drones did as instructed, trotting out in single file, but as they entered the hallway they spread out. Likely they all had different destinations in mind. "So, Megatron chose Soundwave. That's good news for Steve, anyway," Switchback's coworker concluded. "What do you think he's going to do about it?"

"Dunno." 404 had his arms crossed, and his soot-streaked face tilted to one side, "but I'm guessing we're gonna find out sooner or later."


	3. Synchronicity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this time I am posting the chapters on the correct story. Good job, me! 
> 
> Ahh I've already noticed a lot of traffic on this, thank you guys so much ;w; it's nice to see people still enthusiastic about this after I've taken such a long hiatus! You guys are the best.
> 
> Squicks in this chapter: A little bit of mechpreg mention, mostly near the end, but it's very vague. Also, beware of the Return of the Return of Gratuitous Capitalization.

 

**Chapter 2: Synchronicity**

Soundwave did as he was instructed and returned to his quarters immediately. Subconsciously, he felt the tug of duty calling him away, but Megatron had relieved him of his everyday responsibilities so that he might consider his… new ones. So.

_So._

He sat on the edge of his berth, and then immediately stood, pacing back and forth in the room. Such an outward display of agitation was quite rare for Soundwave, but under the highly unusual circumstances he found himself in, he decided not to suppress his reactions. As a matter of fact, he figured that it would actually be a good time to immerse himself in such emotions and carefully analyze how he felt about his current situation. Soundwave was not a mech who relied on his gut, preferring to let calm analysis and logic dictate his course of action.

This was why, as soon as the shock and confusion faded, the very first notion that entered his processor was, very simply, that he was a logical choice for Megatron. Frankly, the more he thought of it, the more he realized that he was  _the_  most logical choice for a Bondmate. That wasn't to say that any other option wouldn't have been suitable. Megatron could have chosen Starscream if he had wanted an intense partner. Their chemistry was volatile, and would certainly require both of them to constantly be adapting to one another, but it  _could_ work. Such a Bonding would be one of the most unusual harmonies that Soundwave had ever considered, but Megatron was known for carving his own path. It was no secret that the two of them sparked off one another.

It was also no secret that the two of them had shared a berth once or twice.

Considering that made Soundwave aware of a sudden rising trepidation in regards to  _that_ , but he pushed those thoughts aside. He could address them later.

Starscream was every bit as ambitious and ruthless as Megatron. He had the same potential to be cruel. Soundwave could be cold and merciless, but he was seldom needlessly violent. Starscream and Megatron both were passionate creatures, at times taken to giving in to their own whims. Soundwave very seldom let his emotions get the better of him. Starscream and Megatron were both so very alike. If they'd Bonded, their harmony would be a never-ending crescendo, full of fury and zeal. Soundwave had been observing the two of them (as he observed everyone) for a while now.

So what sort of harmony would he and the leader of the Decepticons make? He had never considered himself as a potential match for his Lord, and now turned over the particulars of their natures in his processor. Megatron was dynamic, vicious, willing to charge out and take what he wanted. Soundwave was reserved, calm, and preferred to orchestrate events to his liking rather than to alter them directly.

Where Megatron was violent, Soundwave was subdued. Where Megatron was impetuous, Soundwave was careful. They would balance one another. The weaker notes of Megatron's spark would find richness in the steady thrum of Soundwave's, and the quieter chimes of Soundwave's would be fortified by the roar of his Lord's. Balance. True harmony. When he thought of the sort of Bond Megatron might have with his second-in-command, he thought of a whirling inferno that was so fierce it would burn itself out. But he… could provide his Lord with a more lasting resonance.

And that, Soundwave supposed, had been the deciding factor. Megatron had weighed the outcomes and had chosen a potential Bond that was most likely to last. Soundwave could appreciate that, in his dry, detached way. Megatron would not have to worry about Soundwave's loyalty or his dedication. He never had before.

Appreciating the logical aspect of the choice was fine, well, and good, but underneath that calm acceptance, that dry rationalization, something was welling in Soundwave that he could not deny nor exactly control. It was pride. Fierce, unwavering pride.

Soundwave genuinely revered his Lord. He had dedicated himself to the Decepticon cause, to Lord Megatron's leadership, wholly and fully. He had remained loyal when others would have given up. He had never faltered, never wavered, and in that Megatron had found a desirable quality, and Soundwave was condemned to the Pit if there wasn't something so intensely _gratifying_ about having his loyalty acknowledged in so fulfilling a manner.

Loyalty was one thing, however, and desire was another. Soundwave paused in his restless pacing and cocked his head. He did look up to Megatron. He calmly and rationally acknowledged his Lord's many good qualities. Megatron was very crafty, in a brutal sort of way. He had an innate canniness that did not stem from a life in the well-cultured halls of Iacon. His intelligence had always been his own, resonating from his very Spark, the brightest light in the dark depths of the Kaon laboring pits. Sometimes his tendency to rush headlong into things he didn't fully understood ended badly, but oftentimes his audacity paid off. Megatron did not let  _anything_  stop him from achieving what he wanted. He'd even defeated his own death, in a way.

There was something undeniably magnetic about such determination, the very same determination that had seen an unnamed miner declare himself warlord. Megatron was charismatic. He drew greatness to him and wore it like a garment. The more Soundwave considered it, the more he had to admit to himself that it was a bit… well, appealing.

He might have been letting current circumstances cloud his judgment, but if that was the case, perhaps it was appropriate to allow them to do so. If Soundwave had ever begun to develop an embryonic attraction towards his Lord, he had long since suppressed it. He had a greater duty to his faction, and besides, it had always seemed that Megatron's eye had been firmly caught by Starscream. With the barriers of competition and propriety removed, how did he feel? What would it be like to be the focus of all that grandeur, that vicious cunning, those countless eons of determination and grim struggle?

Soundwave shivered involuntarily.

What would it be like to be desired by that being, a being who knew you better than perhaps anyone, and wanted you for it? What would it be like to be joined with that fierce and unwavering spark, to be invited to be part and particle of such magnificence? To be called to serve in such a way, and be served in return?

Soundwave felt his internal temperature take a spike the likes of which it hadn't seen in eons.

Well, okay, that was one question answered. Or… a few, actually. Soundwave was honored, flattered, and  _glad._ It seemed a weak word for the momentous occasion, but it was the most fitting. He decided to himself that he was pleased with the offer, and it had only taken him about an hour of pacing and intense cogitation to figure it out. He was going to have to get better at this "getting in touch with his emotions" thing. It was a start, though.

Of course, it wasn't only his own feelings that Soundwave had to consider. He sent a silent command to eject to both of his symbionts. Laserbeak immediately detached from his chest, and he held out an arm for her to perch on. The plates of his back, between his shoulders, began to shift and swivel in a complicated dance of dully-flashing metal, and a moment later Ravage sprang free, landing lightly on the floor.

True telepathy does not use words. It is an infinitely more elegant means of communication. It is less like speaking and more like a song. A song contains many parts, all of them working together to form one harmonious whole. Each thread is woven in a complicated pattern with one another, sometimes rising and falling in unison, sometimes finding a wealth of meaning in what should be cacophonous chaos. A song is direct--it flows directly to the listener's mind and delivers its message all at once, a punch of raw  _meaning_  straight to the soul.

So, similarly, does telepathy convey multiple complex sensations all at once. Sensory input can be conveyed (the pain of an old wound) as well as emotions of times past (the gentle joy of an old, half-forgotten moment of familial warmth), or simple memories. Abstract sensations that words can only fumble blindly with can be shared straight from spark to spark. Telepathy is a complicated symphony, and next to it, language seems a sad substitute.

Soundwave asked his symbionts, in that same poetically intricate manner, what they thought of all of this.

Laserbeak was the first to respond. She sent back a burst indicating pride, in a secondhand sort of way. She was very pleased that Megatron had recognized her host as a superior choice, and underlaid the thought with currents of eagerness that Soundwave had been chosen for the task of producing an heir.

Ravage chimed in, sharing these same thoughts as he carefully stepped around his host, gazing up with narrow yellow optics. Soundwave was certainly pleased that his symbionts were welcoming of the idea of his bearing a sparkling, but he couldn't help but feel a little bit embarrassed at how eager they seemed.

Furthermore, Laserbeak approved of Megatron. She sent an image to Soundwave, a memory she had plucked from his very processor. It was of a moment years and years ago, on the blasted surface of Cybertron, when Lord Megatron had extended a single mighty arm for her to perch on while she delivered a report. The memory hummed like a plucked string as it was given to Soundwave. She had felt honor when he offered her his very arm, given her his attention, trusted her intelligence.  _Honor and pride._

Soundwave synchronized his thoughts with his smallest and eldest of symbionts, and let the sense of honor ring through both of their sparks. They were in accord.

Ravage sat on the floor before Soundwave, his long tail resting in a lazy arc on the ground, the tip flicking idly. He waited with feline patience while Soundwave and Laserbeak communicated, and then silently delivered his own opinion of the proceedings. Ravage was more inclined to be aloof than Laserbeak, but Soundwave was not surprised by this. Ravage had been spawned as a feline, after all, and  _some_  natures were truly universal.

He first sent a memory to Soundwave, a memory of Megatron as he had been seen from Ravage's own point of view. Back on Cybertron, Soundwave had been in control of _many_  Minicons. Some of them, like Ravage and Laserbeak, were sparked symbionts, and some of them were mindless, insectoid scuttling things. It was no secret that Megatron had disliked them. The memory was a clear picture of the disgust in Megatron's face as he stared at Soundwave, who, at the time, had been bristling with the bodies of Minicons, all of them latched onto his (then much bulkier) exoskeleton.

 _Distrust,_ Ravage sent along the link.  _Anger._ Soundwave did not yet respond, but rather waited patiently. Ravage had been furious at the way Megatron looked at his host, at the disdain he had felt for Soundwave's subversive methods. That, however, had been early in the war.

Next he sent another memory, a more recent one. It was well into the heart of the war, the fury and fire, where one could not be sure if they would live to see the next day. Megatron had been standing on a cliff side, watching the destruction of some unnamed Autobot settlement. Ravage had been standing at Soundwave's side.

Soundwave recognized the memory. The mission had been one in which Ravage had played a significant part. He had scouted ahead and disabled the defenses of the small camp, relying on his stealth to sneak in and out unnoticed. The Autobots had been defenseless when the attack had come. Soundwave synchronized with his symbiont, and the two memories overlapped, replaying together through the link from two different perspectives.

"Why does he not wear our symbol?" Megatron had asked without looking. Soundwave had silently and electronically queried him for further clarification, and Megatron had turned ( _two different viewpoints, one of them watching Megatron turn to look down at the ground, and the other finding itself the subject of those intense red eyes_ ) and looked to Ravage. "Your Minicon. I do not see the emblem anywhere on him."

Ravage had tilted his head slightly, as had Soundwave. The two perspectives slid sideways in unison. Megatron grinned slightly, baring the tips of his pointed denta, apparently amused by the synchronicity he saw between host and symbiont rather than disgusted. He then said, simply, "See to it that your Minicon is branded tonight."

Megatron had not come out and said it, but Ravage was a shrewd creature, and he knew what those words had meant.  _Acknowledgement,_ Ravage sent through the link,  _"He," not "it."_  There had been no disgust in their Lord's eyes when he looked to Ravage in the light of the burning Autobot settlement. There had been a sort of strange curiosity, as if he had been seeing Ravage for the first time. He had come a long way from the fiercely scowling creature near the beginning of the war. Though he had never said he would, he had given Soundwave and his symbionts a chance.

Laserbeak's response had been much more jubilant, much more eager than Ravage's assessment, but the feline's final say in the matter could be summed up in two simple words.  _Good enough._

Amusement flickered through the link and Soundwave knelt, reaching out with his free hand and simply placing it on Ravage's angular helm, between the pointed ear finials. A low rumbling purr emanated from within the feline's deep-chested figure, and for a moment the three of them sat in near-silence, synchronizing, letting the mutual acceptance filter through all of their processors. All three of them were at peace with this proposal. All of them welcomed it.

It had been a trying day so far, and it was bound to be a confusing and rocky courtship, but at the very least, Soundwave was in accord with those most important to him. For a few moments, in that quiet room, despite the distant dimness of their dead homeworld, despite the dangers this planet presented to the future of the Decepticon cause, despite the ache in Soundwave's spark for two symbionts that were not there with him, the three of them felt content.

And then Knock Out pinged Soundwave and told him that his appointment had been set up, and that he would see Soundwave the next morning.

Apprehension poured abruptly through Soundwave. He straightened, and vented slowly in resignation, silently commanding both Ravage and Laserbeak to return. As they maneuvered themselves in place, he commed Knock Out back. Though he had accepted Lord Megatron's offer at the ceremony, it was this decision that would truly seal his fate.

" _Request: acknowledged."_

* * *

The day passed. Work had to be done, as usual, but in between the execution of regular duties, there was, of course, endless talk about the proceedings of the morning. One could hardly escape it. Some of the drones hadn't even had the decency to use private comms, but merely chattered amongst one another for all the crew to hear.

It hadn't taken long for all of it to get on Starscream's nerves.

He was grateful for the respite at the end of the day, when he could retreat to his private quarters. To say he was furious would be an understatement. He was livid. He had been  _humiliated._ Megatron had known very well what he had been doing, leading the whole crew on like that! He had been made a fool of in front of officer and drone alike. He was so angry that he could hardly stand to  _think_ about it, and when Starscream was angry, he did one of three things to cool himself down. One of these was to take out his aggressions on someone else, and another was simply to go flying. The third option was to monologue.

He paced his quarters at the end of the day, his wings twitching in irritation. "He cannot be serious," the seeker growled, "this has to be some sort of plot." He paused, staring at the far wall of his quarters, his posture drawn up high and rigid, tapping at his cheek plating with a single slender, sharp digit. "But what?"

Once again he continued pacing. "He has to know that this will _not_ work out. Soundwave is…" he struggled for words. "He is mindless. He is nothing more than a walking shell." Another pause. "I think."

Frankly, there wasn't a lot that Starscream knew about Soundwave. He made it a point to keep well-informed on his fellow officers (his  _competition_ , he thought to himself privately), but most of what he knew about Soundwave came from their direct interactions, and he had never been given a reason to think that there was anything more complicated that mindless calculations going on behind that faceless mask. There was talk that Soundwave had even deleted his emotional sub processes in order to be a more efficient soldier. Some officers even accepted this as fact. Starscream wasn't so sure, but he hadn't witnessed anything to make him believe otherwise.

Sure, he knew and understood that Soundwave was a sparked individual, but that didn't mean scrap. Starscream had known plenty of sparked individuals who barely deserved to be called Cybertronians for all the life they'd had during his time among them before the war. Most of them had been politicians.

"He is not stupid. I know that much about him," Starscream growled to himself, his voice lowering, taking on a brooding, growling quality. He knew the same story that everyone knew of Megatron and Soundwave's first meeting, but other than that, his past was admittedly a mystery. "Perhaps it would be prudent for me to learn more about our Third In Command."

He wasn't suggesting, of course, that Megatron had made an error. Of course not. He was just doing his duty as second-in-command. He certainly wasn't looking to find anything incriminating about Soundwave. Of _course_ not. "But if I happen to find something there that might make our leader question the wisdom of his choice, that would be most…  _unfortunate_  indeed."

"What would, sir?"

Starscream jerked and turned, staring into the impassive visor of a Vehicon. He hadn't heard it enter, which could only mean it had done so while he was talking to himself. By the Pit, he hated it when that happened. He reasoned to himself that maybe it would happen less if he didn't monologue quite so much. "Nothing. Nothing at all." He stared suspiciously at his subordinate, which was holding a cube of energon as well as a calibration kit for his weekly maintenance. "Exactly how long were you…?"

"Um. I just got here," the drone said nervously. It had a deep voice, as did most of the drones, and it was plainly a little nervous. Though it didn't really have a face, he got the strangest sensation that it was staring intently at him.

"Well? Don't just stand there," the Seeker commanded, "Set them down."

* * *

Steve hurried to obey Starscream's imperative, setting the supplies down on the nearest surface. He owed two Eradicons a favor for the swap that had allowed him to be here tonight. He didn't know what he was thinking. Earlier he had just been consumed with enthusiasm, but now, standing in Starscream's presence, he couldn't imagine that he had ever thought he would say  _anything._ He was silent as he set the cube down and unlatched the maintenance kit. Starscream stood in brooding silence at the other end of the room.

"What do you think of Lord Megatron's choice?" Starscream's voice startled Steve, and he paused, looking back towards the Air Commander, who was facing away from him.

The drone looked back to the gently-glowing container. He wanted to say that it was for the best, because he earnestly believed it was. Megatron and Starscream were too much for one another. They would hurt each other, maybe even destroy each other, if they let themselves be drawn to one another. He wanted to say something to soothe Starscream's wounded pride, to reassure him that he was still desirable, that he was still a fascinating and compelling mech, but he couldn't force the words out. A wave of self-loathing rose up in the drone's spark. "I wasn't there, but I heard about it. Quite a surprise, sir."  _Idiot,_ he said to himself. Of all the responses he could have given, he had to go with the safe one, the useless one.

"I cannot help but wonder if such a choice is truly in our Lord's best interests. What do you know about Soundwave?" Starscream looked boredly over his shoulder. It was clear he wasn't expecting an earnest answer. He was merely bouncing his thoughts off of his servant. He was expecting some sort of banal, mindless reply, perhaps. He was expecting what Steve had given him so far.

"Not much," was his initial, obedient response. Something imperceptible shifted in the harmony of his spark in that one moment, and after a brief hesitation, Steve surprised himself by going on, "Lord Megatron probably knows more than any of us."  _That_  got Starscream's attention. The Seeker turned and glared across the room at his servant. It was probably not a good idea to be on the receiving end of a stare so sharp from the notoriously moody Air Commander, but Steve met it unwaveringly. His spark was racing. Oh, that was stupid, that was  _so_  stupid, he thought to himself giddily, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it, not for an instant. "I don't think even he's done any digging, though."

The stare did not exactly soften, but it did hint of vague murderous impulses  _less_ , which Steve took as a good sign. "Perhaps it would be wise to do this… 'digging' that you propose."

The Nemesis was carrying an unusual cargo for a warship--information. There were plenty of records that had been taken from Cybertron that hadn't yet been fully processed, simply because there was neither time nor need to wade through years' worth of financial reports, census investigations, and the like. If there was anything in those files, it wouldn't have been difficult for Soundwave to delete them. But even that would be something mildly suspicious. Steve suspected that Starscream was just trying to soothe his wounded pride, grasping at straws. Steve didn't have it in him to deny Starscream the chance, though, even if he thought it was a fool's errand.

It wasn't as if Starscream could do so without Soundwave noticing. Officers were watched closely, especially Starscream. The Air Commander knew it. He sneered, shaking his head, covering up the hopelessness of his endeavor by simply disdaining that it would be worth his time. "Though I doubt-"

"I could do it." Steve found his vocalizer acting quite without input from his processor. Starscream looked to him abruptly, optics wide in surprise. "I don't really think anyone's going to mind if us drones go poking around," Oh, Primus, his vocalizer was just running away from him, heedless of any authority his processor might have been able to scrape up at this point. Steve could only listen helplessly to himself as he plunged on, sealing his fate. "We're just curious about Megatron's…" He had the presence of mind not to say "Intended" and caught himself just in time to add, "About Soundwave." The Vehicon gave a little shrug.

Starscream stared at him for a few moments, his expression oddly perplexed. Clearly, he didn't know what to make of the Vehicon in front of him. He was staring at Steve as if the drone had suddenly grown fangs and morphed into an Insecticon right there in his quarters. "You," he finally concluded, "are a devious mech."

Steve immediately ducked his head in a gesture of instinctive submission. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean-"

Starscream shook his head. "No. No, that is… that is fortuitous, in these circumstances." Starscream grinned at him. The Air Commander thought that  _Steve_  was devious? The drone had nothing on that grin alone (which, incidentally, was making him feel a little weak in the knees joints). "You are certain you can procure this information?"

"I…" Steve hesitated for a moment, but when he saw the flash in Starscream's eyes, he nodded and hastily amended, "Yes. I can."

"Very well." Starscream took a step forward, and then another stalking towards the drone with the slow ease of a predator towards cornered prey. "See to it that this is done quickly and secretly. And not a word." Starscream leaned in close, his eyes narrowed to slits. "To anyone."

Steve's spark was beating a frantic staccato. He didn't know if he was more thrilled by his Commander's close proximity or more intimidated by the promise of violence in those tensely-held limbs. He adored Starscream, but he was not ignorant of the danger this mech could present to him. Still, he didn't lean away. There was some terrifyingly defiant part of him that kept his backstrut ramrod straight "Of course, sir," he assented, much more softly than he'd intended to.

Starscream nodded and, as coolly as if nothing had happened, turned away. "Good. We are in accord. You are dismissed." Steve remained where he was for a few moments longer, releasing an enormous huff of air from his vents that he wasn't aware he'd been holding in, before his sense of self-preservation finally caught up with him. He nodded and left quickly, feeling an odd mix of something like fear and anticipation mingling in his spark.

He didn't know what it was, but he  _did_ know that he liked it.

* * *

"So," Breakdown narrowed his optic and stared at the strange, skeletal device currently taking up one entire wall of the medbay. It looked almost as if a human had decided to build one of their absurd jungle gyms against the wall itself. "What did you say it was, again?"

"A gestation chamber," Knock Out replied. He was not doing the actual building (after all, they had drones for that, and a team of them were hard at work welding and riveting), but rather overseeing. Every now and then he would consult a data pad to make sure things were coming along, or move over to better instruct one of the Vehicons.

"Right," Breakdown muttered. " _That_ explains everything."

It wasn't stupidity that provoked the statement-it was simply ignorance The process of physical reproduction was still somewhat of a novel concept to most Cybertronians, who had the Well of All Sparks to add to their population. Knock Out wasn't surprised that Breakdown didn't know much about it. Most of what they had learned had been gleaned after the majority of the war, from the Velocitronians and the Junkions. It wasn't a part of whatever (likely inadequate) education Breakdown had been given when he was young. "It's for the sparkling, if we get one." The medic shrugged, looking up from his data pad to his partner.

"So why are you building it  _now_? They're not exactly… well. You know." He shrugged. Courtship had just been announced that day. Breakdown wasn't expecting anything to come of it just yet.

"It is being constructed…" The two of them jumped simultaneously at the sound of doors hissing open and the low, grave voice of their Lord interrupting. Knock Out turned hastily towards his leader, nodding and giving him his most brilliant smile. Megatron went on, "So that Knock Out can explain, in detail, what the sparking process will entail." The warlord regarded the gestation chamber with his eyes slightly narrowed and his expression tense, as if (Knock Out noticed with private amusement) he were sizing up an opponent. "This is it, then?"

"Yes, my Lord." Knock Out knew when it was time to be brief.

Megatron nodded slowly. "Soundwave prefers to be well-informed. See to it that he knows every step of the process. My Thir-" He halted himself, and then, after a moment, went on, "My  _Intended_ should have no questions at the end of his examination." He turned to pin Knock Out with his stare. "Understood?"

Knock Out really couldn't make heads or tails of his Lord's intentions, but there was almost a challenge to his voice, and air of… protectiveness? "Of course, Lord Megatron." He tilted his head. "But hasn't he already…?" Megatron stared back at him, offering nothing. "He has his, er, well, I don't know what you would call them-the bird, the cat, and the twins?"

The warlord shook his head. "Soundwave's symbionts are an entirely different matter. Furthermore, Rumble and Frenzy are no longer with us. You will not bring up their names in Soundwave's presence at any time. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Knock Out glanced back to his pad, and then to Megatron, who was still staring at the structure of the gestation chamber silently. "Is there anything else you needed from me…?"

"No," was Megatron's reply. With that, he turned, moving away from the chamber and the medic, leaving Knock Out somewhat confused as to why he had bothered to come all the way down. Had he come just to see the chamber? The doors hissed open for Megatron, and before he left, he called, "after you are finished with Soundwave, of course, you will examine me. See that your schedule is cleared." The doors slid shut.

Knock Out stared at the door, a look of terror slowly dawning on his face. Megatron hadn't exactly been clear, but… was his examination meant to entail the exact same sort of thing Soundwave's would? Explanation and all? Was he going to spend half a day explaining the particulars of… of  _sparking_ to Lord Megatron? Knock Out had lived long and seen a lot during the war, but he wasn't sure he could handle  _that._ Behind him, he heard Breakdown chuckle, sensing the rising anxiety in the flare of his EM field.

"Shut up," Knock out growled, looking over his shoulder. "You're going to be there too,  _nurse_ Breakdown." The larger mech rolled his eye and obediently went quiet.

He didn't stop grinning, though.


	4. Doctor Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mainly a lot of psuedo-scientific headcanon, and also relies a bit on the Alex Irvine novels for the basics of Cybertronian reproduction. I also realized that the original posting of this chapter back on ff.net was probably a year ago, ahaha whoops. I am the slowest writer.
> 
> Squicks in this chapter: It contains many discussions of Cybertronian reproduction, so mechpreg is pretty prevalent in this chapter! Also, Switchgear being nerdy.

 

 

**Chapter 3: Doctor, Doctor**

The  _Nemesis_  had made excellent progress throughout the night, and by the time the sun was rising, it was moving over South America, chasing down an energon deposit that had been detected in the heart of the Brazilian rainforest. The bad news was that it was located in a very inconvenient place--far underneath the layers and layers of thick canopy, and close enough to the Amazon river where flooding would be a workplace hazard.

The good news was that it was an enormous deposit. It was not quite the prize the Decepticon army had given up on their last venture in the Arctic, but it was more than enough to warrant the trouble of an extended operation. The  _Nemesis_  was drifting as low as it could over the tops of the trees, occasionally dipping lower where it was able to, skimming the wide, winding expanse of the Amazon River.

Energy expenditure was a big deal on the  _Nemesis_. The Decepticons had an army to run and an impressive array of technology to keep primed. Balancing it all was a task that fell in some part to the officers, but largely to the extended team of the maintenance crew. Though the  _Nemesis_  was a spaceworthy vessel with the ability to completely seal and control its climate, keeping the ship cooled in the inhospitable conditions of the surrounding climate (August in the Amazon was absolutely no joke) would have required far more energy than had been allotted.

Therefore, only the upper and stern decks of the _Nemesis_ were to be cooled. The officers would enjoy hospitable conditions, and the miners and field drones would have pleasantly crisp rooms to return to after a hard day's work. The maintenance crew and those sequestered in the fore of the ship would simply do what they could to cope with the temperature while they worked.

 _It isn't the heat,_ Steve thought to himself as he made his way down the winding maze of corridors.  _It's the fragging humidity._ The air was  _thick._ It hit his exoskeleton like a wall, and made him conscious of every desperate vent. When he stepped into the dark room where he knew he would find Switchgear, he was a little startled to hear the tell-tale whirr of cooling fans.

Switchgear looked over his shoulder, alerted by the hiss of his door. When he saw Steve's posture, he huffed through his vents. "Good morning. It is only eleven o'clock and the temperature is already nearly twenty-seven degrees Celsius." He shook his head. "Do you know much about the Amazonian rainforest? It is apparently a wealth of biodiversity, the likes of which you've never even seen!"

Steve was used to Switchgear's overactive vocalizer, especially when he got on a tangent, but he hadn't seen the other drone this excited in a long time. "Is that so?"

"Yes. There are ants that use one another as stitching to make their nests. There are frogs that live their entire  _lives_ in flowers. There are plants that eat  _higher life forms_! It's like every dream and nightmare all rolled into one great, big, leafy package."

Steve did his best to convey his sympathy as he added, "And we're probably going to be flooding a sizeable portion of it this afternoon…"

Switchgear sighed. "Yes. Regrettable, but necessary if we are to continue surviving." He said this without too much regret. He might have found Earth fascinating, but he was still a Decepticon, and he shrugged off the chaos that would be wreaked upon the ecosystem with characteristic mercenary disregard. He turned to face Steve. "At any rate, how are  _you_? You left here in quite a rush yesterday. Did you, in fact, march up to Starscream and declare your undying devotion to him?" This was a gentle tease--Steve knew that Switchgear wouldn't be prodding him so if Starscream was well on his way to becoming Megatron's Bonded.

"Actually, no, but I did see him. I got some switches in and I got to bring him his Energon."

Switchgear chuckled softly over the sound of his furiously-whirring fans. "Well, I am happy for you. I hope you get to continue to admire your commander from afar. Just please keep a safe distance, yes? We all like you in one piece, Steve."

There was a pause. "About that… well. I sort of. He sort of talked to me. And I talked to him." Switchgear had been in the process of turning back around, but Steve's words arrested him on the spot, and he stared. "It was… it was the craziest thing. I talked to him, and he noticed me, he really  _noticed_ me. He called me devious." Steve gave a dazed laugh. "Starscream knows I exist and he thinks I'm devious. I kind of like that."

"What in the name of the Well of All Sparks could you have done to convince Commander Starscream that you are  _devious_?" Switchgear queried incredulously.

"Well. Uh. It's kind of a long story, but, it's part of why I'm here." Steve squared his shoulders. "Do you remember that favor you owe me…?"

* * *

When Soundwave stepped into the medbay, Knock Out was ready for him. The medic flashed him a brilliant grin and gestured grandly to the diagnostic table, which had been tilted forward so that Soundwave could lean against it. When he was a few paces away, Knock Out quite suddenly piped up, "Oh, by the way, release your hangers-on. I'll need to examine them separately."

Soundwave hesitated. He was not afraid for his own well-being, but instinctive apprehension hummed in his processor at the thought of detaching both Laserbeak and Ravage and letting Knock Out  _touch_  them. Soundwave batted down the flash of emotion almost as soon as it had appeared. Moments later, Ravage sprang to the ground and Laserbeak detached herself, circling the medbay idly as she looked for a place to land.

Knock Out watched her with one brow plate cocked and offered her absolutely no assistance. It wasn't until her third circuit that Breakdown, who had been standing off to the side, offered his arm, on which the symbiont gratefully perched. He held himself with exaggerated stillness, as if he was afraid of somehow upsetting Soundwave's symbiont and getting blasted as a result.

Ravage turned and slunk away, lying down by the wall and laying his head on his paws. His yellow optics narrows to slits, but did not close. Soundwave glanced back to Knock Out, who nodded, and the Deception's Third in Command turned to lean back against the bench. He positioned his arms around the support struts and widened his stance, letting the harshly angular flanges of his body relax away from his protoform. Soundwave had fought for his life in the Gladiator pits of Kaon, had followed Megatron across a war-torn planet, had flown in the very face of Primus himself in the name of the Decepticon cause, but slag it all, he was nervous.

It was  _ridiculous._ It was beneath him. It was… regrettably undeniable. He wasn't used to being poked at and prodded by strange mechs. He would rather face the jarring blows of a battlefield than willingly lie still and let a medic slide instruments into vulnerable portions of his anatomy. The act of protecting those weak spots from harm had become such an ingrained part of his behavior that he had to will himself not to pull away. He was a creature so used to savagery that he flinched and squirmed under a medic's hand like a sparkling. In a way, it was ironic that he would rather face horrific wounding blows than a simple examination. Mostly, though, it was just annoying. Soundwave continued to force himself to relax. Knock Out was probably going to ask him some standard questions before they started to delve into the particulars of his new physical responsibilities--

"What do you know about interfacing?" Knock Out asked bluntly as he approached Soundwave, not looking up from the data pad he was carrying. Soundwave stared at him. Knock Out raised his head and stared back. "Well?"

Soundwave gathered every file and notation he had made on the subject, condensed it into a neat data packet, and transmitted it to Knock Out, who blinked as it arrived. He unraveled it in a few moments, and, with a wry smile, added, "You know, you could have just said, 'the basics,' and saved yourself the  _trouble_ , Soundwave."

Soundwave sent a wireless burst to Knock Out indicating that he had no basis for comparison as to what was and wasn't "basic."

Knock Out waved a hand dismissively. "Semantics. Right. So. Mechs and femmes each have a spike and a valve. Spike goes in the valve. Lots of fun is had.  _The basics_. Interfacing for the purpose of making new life is very similar. Sometimes it can happen by accident, but usually you need a small medical procedure beforehand." Knock Out's voice was settling into a smooth, easy cadence. Soundwave was a little surprised at how easily and thoroughly he was explaining this. It was easy to forget, with all of his preening and his tendency to be self-absorbed, that Knock Out  _was_  rather skilled at what he did.

Knock Out held up one arm and shifted a panel to the side. "It's very simple. I plug in, change a few lines of code, and voila! You're primed to go. I'm sure you've noticed that electrical charge is usually the result of valve stimulation? That's part of the process. Sparking is all about energy redistribution."

"Sparking," then, is what it was to be called. Soundwave was conscious of Breakdown moving. Laserbeak had hopped up to reposition herself on top of his shoulder-canon; he let his arm fall to his side. He could see the one-eyed mech staring at Knock Out, making no attempt to hide his interest in what the medic was saying.

"Getting sparked is easy enough. It's not complicated, you just sort of have to… try. Hard." Knock Out's smooth rhythm faltered and a momentarily disquieted look crossed his face. Soundwave surmised that he had unexpectedly pictured their Lord "trying hard." Slaggit, now  _he_ was, too! He felt his internal temperature nudge itself up slightly. "During the process," Knock Out went on, recovering rather smoothly, "The tip of the penetrator's spike becomes locked with the endplate of the penetrated's."

Soundwave silently interrupted with another wireless burst, requesting elaboration of the term "locked."

Knock Out put his head to one side. "The exact nature of the binding is unknown, since it's somewhat  _difficult_  to get readings from the  _inside of a valve during interface_ , but it's believed to be electromagnetic in nature. A lot of what we know about this sort of things comes from what we've picked up from the Velocitronians and the Junkions. They didn't have a Well, so they had to make mechs and femmes the old-fashioned way."

Soundwave nodded.

"After the lock occurs, energy transfer takes places. The lock creates sort of a… a hardline connection, if you will. Spark energy goes back and forth over the connection, from one spark, to the other, and back again. How many times this happens and how long the connection lasts depends on stamina." Knock Out shrugged. "Eventually, of course, enough is enough, and when the connection is lost, overload is achieved, and if you're lucky, one of the involved Cybertronians will be sparked."

"Though it is usually the penetrated who ends up carrying, it isn't unheard-of for it to happen to the penetrator. It has nothing to do with frame type or spark type." Spark type, of course, referred to whether the Cybertronian in question was a mech or a femme. "Femmes have sparked mechs who were penetrating them. Mechs have sparked one another. Femmes have sparked one another. Junkions believed it had something to do with the nature of each spark involved. All we know so far is that weaker sparks tend to fail at either carrying or sparking, so maybe they were onto something. So." Knock Out smiled, pausing only one moment to let it all sink in. "Any questions?"

Soundwave turned over the process in his head. He had the facts about the process itself, but Knock Out had left out one important detail. He queried Knock Out as to what level of pain he could expect from the locking process.

Knock Out blinked, startled. "It doesn't hurt," he blurted in response. "Quite the opposite."

Oh. Well then. That internal temperature nudged itself a little higher, and Soundwave, mortified, did what he could to remain calm and push it back down.

Knock Out vented deeply. "I have heard it described as being similar to spark-merging, but much more…  _visceral."_

Whoops, his internal temperature was gleefully ignoring Soundwave's efforts and had risen a full half a degree. For someone used to the steely mental control Soundwave had over himself, it was a horrifying situation. He decided to switch gears. He sent a wordless query over why this manner of interface necessary. If a mingling of energies was all that was required, why could a sparkling not be produced through sparkmerging?

"Sparkmerging is much too direct. It's too violent for the rather  _delicate_  process of kindling a new spark. In this manner, the energy is channeled through the frame of the would-be carrier.  _Buffered_ , if you will. The process is easier on the spark, but rougher on the  _rest_ of the body."

Soundwave tried to wrap his processor around how that must feel. Spark energy ripping through his whole body? Surely it couldn't be pleasant, regardless of what Knock Out was saying.

"It's supposed to be highly pleasurable," Knock Out remarked rather flippantly, shrugging. Soundwave cocked his head. Breakdown did so at the exact same time. "Anyway, once that is done, if the process is successful, one of the involved will be sparked. You will need me to help you with that bit. Bringing a newspark into the world… It's all very complicated. Very  _awkward_. Lots of fluids and painful stretching."

Soundwave felt his armor pressing flat against his protoform in horror.

Knock Out laughed. "Only kidding! It's really all very simple." Soundwave stared at Knock Out and fought the rising urge to throttle the medic with his tentacles. "A sparked Cybertronian simply carries the nucleus of a newspark in their chamber for a time. It can vary from a week to a couple of months. It just… depends. It isn't vital that the newspark is moved as quickly as possible, so there's always some leeway, you could say. Anyway, when the spark is ready to go, all we do is pop open the spark chamber and transfer the newspark to the gestation chamber."

He turned and gestured to the half-built device crouching against the wall. "It is possible to carry a sparkling on one's own body, similar to the way you carry your symbionts, but Velocitronians were not interested in carrying for any length of time--apparently it got in the way of their racing, and I can respect that--and Junkions simply did not have the  _luxury_ of carrying. A gestation chamber will keep the newspark kindled and help the basic protoform develop without adding any unpleasant baggage to your oh-so-lovely frame."

Knock Out stepped towards the chamber. There were three egg-shaped pods lined up in the cage-like structure. "When this is active, these pods will be hooked up to monitors and energon dispensers. When the protoform is ready, it begins to absorb the pod itself. So, we know that it's ready when one of the pods is gone and we have a new Cybertronian standing, waiting to scan its alt-mode. It's as simple as that."

Soundwave nodded. He was rather relieved that the… the  _birthing_ process itself was something he was much more used to. It was in fact less invasive than budding a new symbiont, which was a much longer and more complicated affair. The gestation chamber seemed rather like a portable Well. The hard part would not be delivering the spark itself. The hard part would be getting sparked in the first place.

Which meant, of course, that there was going to be a lot of trying.

 _Primus._ There went that internal temperature again, inching slowly, insidiously upwards. Soundwave was internally a bit alarmed at how badly he was losing his cool. Of course, the silent mech's definition of "losing his cool" was quite different than the average mech's. On the outside, he was as calm as he'd ever been. Neither Knock Out nor Breakdown seemed to suspect he was having any reaction at all. Perhaps they both believed that this was just Soundwave accepting another facet of his duty to his Lord. The thought was oddly comforting.

"Now that that's settled," Knock Out was speaking again, the smooth cadence of his voice betraying a definite note of humor, "let's get down to the physical examination."

* * *

Elsewhere in the  _Nemesis,_ Steve was hovering anxiously behind Switchgear, who was crouching on the floor, his helm between his two talon-tipped hands.

" _We are both going to die_."

"You're being dramatic," Steve sighed.

* * *

A few minutes later found Soundwave leaning back on the examination table, which had been tilted to a new angle, with his legs lifted and very awkwardly spread in a pair of stirrups. A variety of other medical devices had been hooked up to him, all of them belching lines and lines of readings into the data terminals at the other side of the room.

Knock Out was staring at the screens, his optics flicking back and forth in tiny, rapid motions. "Your base readings are all fine. The most important examination today will be getting readings on your spark energy." Knock Out shrugged and returned his attention to Soundwave. "Standard procedure, of course. If there were serious problems or fluctuations with your spark, we would know by now. Testing the conductivity of the nodes in your valve would also be a good idea--just to be sure there are no hiccups later down the line."

Soundwave stared. That was a problem. That was a problem that needed to be addressed immediately, but he wasn't sure he had the means to communicate the problem. Knock Out busied himself with hooking up sensors to two power lines leading away from Soundwave's spark chamber (while, in the background, Breakdown began unpacking some tools for the doctor). Soundwave held utterly still as Knock Out took readings from the clamps, skimming them and filing them away for later thorough perusal. All the while the Communications Chief was rifling through his audio files for something to play back that would accurately convey his--

\--but then the preliminary exam was over and Knock Out was kneeling between his legs with a slim medical device in his hand. His expression was set and his tone was even and professional. Knock Out certainly wouldn't win any awards as far as ethical medical practices went, but he at least had the decency not to make this any more uncomfortable than it had to be. "Go on, Soundwave, you know what to do. This will be  _quick_ , I promise."

Oh, well. At this point, words were useless, and Knock Out would see the exact nature of his problem without any help from the spymaster. Wordlessly, Soundwave retracted his valve cover, which slid aside with a discreet click. There was a moment of silence, during which Knock Out was utterly still. Then, abruptly, he stood, his expression and his voice deadpan. "You're sealed."

Why wouldn't he be sealed? Did Knock Out think that Soundwave was the sort of casually engage in interface? To do so would be to make himself, on some level, vulnerable. Soundwave's life had never allowed him to willingly share that vulnerability with anyone, even before the start of the war. Aside from that, he'd just never really felt the desire to share himself in such a way. Really, it was more of a hassle to go out and drag someone back for an interface than it was to simply deal with the matter himself. Soundwave ever strove to master his emotions, but he  _did_  have urges… and those urges he'd felt had been taken care of in a businesslike fashion, allowing him to focus on his duties.

All of this flashed through his processor in the blink of an eye.

To Knock Out, he simply nodded.

The medic stared. Soundwave watched him stare. This continued on for several moments until the Communications Chief shifted slightly in a silent declaration of his discomfort. Knock Out jerked, as if pulled from a haze. "Close up," he said simply. As he stood, the reason for his silence became apparent. He'd been thinking about what to do next. "Though I would  _like_ to check the conductivity of your nodes at this time… it isn't  _strictly_  necessary. You'll know right away if something's wrong."

Clearly the medic had been trying to decide whether to leave Soundwave intact, as it were, or whether to cleanly and medically remove his seal now. On one hand, it would be less embarrassing for Soundwave to have any problems with his unused valve attended to immediately. On the other hand, he had to consider what his Lord would want. If Megatron had a chance to be the mech to take Soundwave's seal, there was absolutely no doubt in anyone present's mind (including Laserbeak and Ravage) that he  _would_  want that, and might even see it as his  _right_. "Under these…  _unusual_ circumstances." The medic looked up. "I will leave the decision in your hands. Do you want to…?"

Soundwave was content to let the matter rest, but he had come here for an examination. As much as he didn't like the thought of being opened up under these conditions, he had to ask,  _"Examination… vital?"_ Using, of course, played back clips of Knock Out's own voice.

"Vital? No. The odds that there is something seriously wrong with your valve are very low. It's just better to be safe than sorry." A pause. "Under  _most_ circumstances."

That was all Soundwave needed to know. He shook his head, and with a decisive  _snck_ , closed his valve cover.

* * *

After a while, Steve managed to calm Switchgear down enough to be receptive to the perfectly rational explanation he had for him.

"That is ridiculous," was Switchgear's immediate response. "Do you know what he is going to do? He is going to get what he needs from us and he is going  _to kill us_. Do you honestly think he's the type to reward loyalty?"

"He wouldn't do away with us if we were useful to him." Steve pointed out. "And… well, okay. I wasn't really thinking at the time."

"You certainly were  _not_ ," Switchgear admonished stiffly.

"But the fact is that he expects me to do this now. If you don't want to," Steve's voice softened a little. "If you  _really_ don't want to, I won't make you be a part of this, Switchgear. I'll do this on my own. But I am going to ask you."

Switchgear vented deeply and stared at his fellow drone. After a moment, he added, exasperatedly, "Well you know I cannot say no  _now_!"

"Maybe I know a little."

Switchgear whapped Steve on the shoulder, but there was no real violence behind the gesture. "Smart vocalizer on you. _Someone's_ been spending too much time around 404." He shook his head. "You are playing a dangerous game, but I won't let you do it alone. Though I'll be honest, I do not know what you expect to find on this fool's errand of yours. I hope Starscream is ready for disappointment. Soundwave is… Soundwave. The one defining characteristic of his career has been his loyalty to Megatron, if anything."

"I don't really know what's going to happen," Steve admitted. "Maybe he knows that he's not going to find anything. But you know what? He's still trying." A note of admiration entered the drone's voice. "It doesn't matter how bad things get, he never gives up. That's one of the things I've always liked the most about him."

"Mmm. That and his legs, if I recall correctly."

"You have to admit, he  _does_  have really nice legs."

"Not my type," Switchgear responded, turning back to the controls.

"You have a type?" This earned Steve another whack. Both of the drones snickered for a moment, and then fell quiet. In the stifling, dark heat, there was relative silence, except for the sound of their whirring cooling fans. "Thanks, though. I mean it."

"I know you do, Steve. Now, scoot! I have work to do. Moreso now than I had prepared myself for this morning. Unarchiving those files… hmm, I'm going to need to visit the archival hub to do that. 726 is there this week, he  _is_ a reasonable sort… " His voice began to take on the distracted air of a mech lost to his work and Steve left him to his duties.

* * *

Finishing up Soundwave's examination had been thankfully uneventful. After giving the Communications Chief's symbionts a good look-over, Knock Out had dismissed the three of them. He would take a more thorough look over the readings that evening. Deciphering the endless nuances that characterized spark energy readings was a chore in itself, and Knock Out suspected that Soundwave's might be especially rich and layered, considering the fact that it was tethered to his two symbionts. He expected it to take up a healthy chunk of his time.

He'd been feeling pretty good about it all until the medbay's doors had hissed open and Megatron had stepped inside, and the trial began.

In hindsight, Knock Out thought he had done a pretty good job. He'd managed to keep a straight face while explaining the sparking process to his recumbent Lord, who watched him with an expression that was, beyond his usual predatory glare, impossible to decipher. It wasn't  _angry_  though, so he counted it as a victory. Megatron asked few questions during the process, though Knock Out found it interesting that he also assumed the transference of spark energy would be a painful process. When Knock Out had informed him of his incorrect assumption, Megatron had merely blinked and nodded.

As a matter of fact, Megatron has not shown much of a reaction at all, to  _anything_  that he was told. He seemed to have taken it all in stride. He was no fool, that much Knock Out knew and knew well, but he had never thought of his Lord as particularly scientifically-minded (or particularly interested in the process of kindling life, rather than snuffing it), so he had to guess that this was all new to him, and Megatron absorbed his new duties with the same quiet stoicism as Soundwave.

Knock Out didn't know whether to be relieved that this examination was going to be painless and quick, or slightly disappointed that his Lord didn't seem more… interested in the process. Oh, well. Maye this meant that the match was going to be a prosperous one, and he'd put that gestation chamber to use after all.

"You'll need to open up for me to get readings on your spark energy, my Lord," Knock Out said once the basic explanations were over. "It's standard procedure, I assure you," he went on when he was met with a somewhat suspicious stare. Knock Out couldn't blame Megatron for being leery of opening his spark chamber in anyone's presence, but he also knew exactly who would emerge the victor should he decide to try and take advantage of his Lord's temporarily-vulnerable state, and it wouldn't be him. He wasn't about to try anything needlessly foolish and life-shortening.

He froze as the plates parted, bathing his face in a light that was not the clear, bright blue of a normal, healthy spark, but the rich, purple glow of the Blood of Unicron. Megatron's spark burned with the power of dark energon, was permeated with it. For a moment Knock Out just stared, optics wide. He had seen Megatron in the throes of his power over the substance, and he knew that its strange properties had brought Megatron back from the brink of death… but to see it bound up to his very  _spark_  in such an all-consuming and intimate manner sent a shudder of primal revulsion through him.

When Megatron shifted expectantly, he held out his hands for the clamps, which Breakdown passed to him, watching his Lord with equal interest. Knock Out vented a small sight to himself. The desecration of Megatron's very spark aside, this highly-unusual variant meant one thing was certain for the Decepticon's Chief Medical Officer.

It was going to be a long night.


	5. You and I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just adding once again that this is a repost (of an incomplete) fic originally posted on FF.Net! Also this chapter starts to intduce elements of the overarching plot, and we finally see Megatron and Soundwave get a bit frisky oh boy.
> 
> Squicks in this chapter: None that I can think of. However, be advised that this chapter contains a healthy bit of tactile!

 

 

**Chapter 4: You and I**

"Excellent work." Megatron said.

The ship was finally in place over the Amazon rain forest, and the bridge was bustling with quiet activity. A few drones had their attention trained on some of the lesser control panels, but Soundwave was pulling in the brunt of the sensor surveillance. Research had indicated that this vast sprawl of forest was beloved by the humans, and somewhat closely watched, so further efforts had needed to be made to keep them from flying over the area currently occupied by the low-lying bulk of the  _Nemesis_.

It had been an easy matter to set up a disruption field; the Nemesis was equipped with one, though some recalibration had to be done to make it compatible with Earth tech. Very simply, it caused most electronics in its field of influence to go haywire. This ranged from the computers required to keep Earth aircraft afloat to the ones responsible for powering a human smart phone. This would not make it impossible for humans to stumble upon the mining site, but it  _would_  make it highly unlikely.

In the event they were discovered, it would most likely be by a small group of humans traveling through unsophisticated means, such as by small watercraft or foot. It would end in misfortune for the humans involved.

"But," the drone who had assisted the research had supplied, "humans go missing in their own cities every day. Certainly it is of no stretch of the imagination to think they could get lost in a  _rainforest_."

The entire process, which could have taken days to complete under less efficient management, had taken Soundwave four hours.

And that was the least of the preparations that needed to be made. A disruption field was a good primary means of defense, but backup plans were needed, as well as backups for the backups. Soundwave did not get to his current standing in the Decepticon army by trusting to  _luck._  Laserbeak was out scouting, for the most part skimming low over the canopy. Aside from the odd bit of interesting wildlife, thus far his symbiont had found nothing to report. A squadron of flying Eradicons was on standby should they need to run interference on any hostile aircraft, as well. In addition, Soundwave was monitoring the local news feeds (local, of course, being a relative term; to a mech of Soundwave's surveillance capabilities, "local" usually meant "whatever  _country_  he happened to be in.")

And to it all, Megatron has very simply replied "Excellent work," and gone back to overseeing the mining operations from the viewscreen. Soundwave had not expected cheerful gushing praise from his leader. In fact, he had not expected anything more in regards to his work. As far as his duties went, nothing had changed.

But as far as other matters went…  _everything_  had changed.

Soundwave was not expecting favoritism of any sort just because he was his Lord's Intended. As a matter of fact, the status freshly bequeathed to him only served as a reminder to him to continue performing his duties to the standards he had always set, if not  _improve_  them. He had just expected… well, he hadn't known what to expect. He was no expert in matters of the spark. A lingering glance? A light brush of EM fields? Some small, but subtle reminder of his Lord's attentions? Either way, it was irrelevant, and high time to attend to the matters at hand.

Perhaps his Lord was simply too preoccupied with those very matters at hand. At any rate, Soundwave had little choice but to let things progress as they would. It was time to focus.

For that matter, it was not like him to be so easily distracted from his duties.

…except these were highly unusual circumstances.

And there he went again!  _Focus_.

His distraction didn't cost him anything. The operation was running smoothly. The miners had settled into a comfortable, steady rhythm, and the whine of drills could be heard through the controls panels of the bridge, rendered tinny by the small speakers. Waves of calm radiated through his bond with Laserbeak. The Decepticon comm net was a steady buzz of continuous, but rather mundane communication. All in all, things were going as well as couple be expected.

It was around that time that several things happened at once.

Soundwave received a ping from Knock Out requesting that he report to the medbay at his earliest convenience. Alarm immediately flooded through the bond with Laserbeak--not the visceral wrench of immediate danger, but still worthy of his attention--and at the same time, he heard a simple sentence uttered through the comm net, originating from a drone working distance surveillance through one of the stations on the lower decks.

"Merciful Primus, it's a  _ship_."

* * *

Immediate priority was given to Laserbeak's alert. It turned out that she had spotted an ultralight. It was a very small single-man human aircraft, almost amusingly primitive and certainly no threat to the  _Nemesis._ The vehicle was far enough away to have not spotted the low-hanging vessel, but Laserbeak was trailing it from a safe distance, all the same.

Then came the matter of  _the ship_. Needless to say, Soundwave immediately contacted the drone as well as informed Lord Megatron of a disturbance. When the communications chief had finally got the explanation from the drone, it turned out to be considerably more than just a disturbance, he had informed his Lord. There was a Cybertronian vessel coming down over Central America.

Soundwave was standing on the bridge, his featureless face directed at the viewscreen, watching the distant dark mass of the ship growing larger as the Eradicon scouting party drew nearer. Every angle of his body hummed with tension and anticipation. Megatron watched him, his eyes narrowed. He was angry.

He knew what was going through his Intended's mind, even if Soundwave thought he didn't. To the drones standing around them, Soundwave was simply assessing a new threat and probably mentally preparing to deal with it. In truth, the emotion that had him so still, that was flaring in the normally-stoic's spark was not defensive anxiety. It was  _hope_. It was like this with every stray ship or bit of debris that they had uncovered since long before they came to Earth, but long after they had left Cybertron. During their journey, there had been a last and decisive clash with the Star Seekers, a clash that had left Soundwave bereft of two of his symbionts.

He knew that each time, Soundwave would be disappointed, and he hated,  _hated_  watching it. He had hated watching it even before he had decided to take Soundwave as his Intended. He did not like to see his most capable and loyal officer strung up on false hopes that this would be the ship that would undo history, that would prove them all wrong, that would bring what was missing back to him.

He had asked Soundwave about them once. Soundwave had responded that they were lost. Not dead, but lost. Though he claimed to have moved on, there was clearly still some part of him that hoped… and each time this sort of thing happened that stupid, stupid hope would get him hurt. Megatron almost wished that they would actually find the remains of Rumble or Frenzy one day, if only to put this painful cycle to a rest once and for all.

No attempts had been made by the falling ship to contact the Nemesis, or, as far as could be told, anyone. A squad of scouts had been assembled and sent to the location via the land bridge with instructions to stay out of weapons range, but close enough for emergency comm signals to reach them. If the ship was harboring any Decepticons, they would be returned to the Nemesis. If it was harboring Autobots, it would be destroyed along with its passengers.

It turned out not to be harboring anyone. The vessel was running on emergency power and missing its escape pods. Its single-minded course (which was currently nearly straight down) suggested that it was running on autopilot. Though it could still easily be a trap, the Eradicons were instructed to move closer and conduct a thorough scan.

"It's dead in the water, sir. No active signals," the squadron leader reported.

The vessel was visible on the viewscreen, and the entire bridge crew was watching it raptly. It was a small cargo runner, intended for short trips. It was amazing that it had made the journey at all. "Whoever set a course for Earth must have been trailing the Nemesis. And…" It went without saying that the crew hadn't made it. They had either starved, or abandoned the vessel. The latter seemed to be the more likely of the two options, seeing as how the escape pods were missing. Megatron saw Soundwave slowly settle in his peripheral vision, the tension draining from his frame. He gave no outward sign of his disappointment, but Megatron knew it was there.

In the end, Megatron very simply declared the decrepit vessel not their problem, and certainly not worth any sort of salvage operation. There had been no readings indicating any high-level weaponry or even energon stores, so there was nothing of value to salvage on the cargo crawler. Doubtless the Autobots would be interested in making sure the vessel was secured and kept from human discovery, and Megatron was content to let them. They would squander their resources while the Decepticons augmented theirs, especially if that human organization MECH took an interest in it.

Besides, abandoning their current project, which had the promise of being quite lucrative, would only make it more difficult to return to at a later time. They could examine the wreckage later, if there was anything left to examine after the Autobots and MECH finished fighting over it.

* * *

Needless to say, the news spread through the drone ranks like wildfire. The Nemesis's mess was not large enough to accommodate the entirety of the drone army at once, so they refueled in shifts. Steve was sitting at a table with a handful of acquaintances, his feeding tube hooked up to his cube of energon; the three of them were leaning far over the table to look at a data pad displaying footage of the vessel itself.

"So they said there's nobody on it?" One drone asked.

"That's what I heard from Airstream. He's on the team that went out to see it," a Vehicon drawled in reply. He had his chin resting in one hand, and one talon tapping the table. "Frankly, I'm relieved. The last time that happened we got the spider."

"Don't let  _her_  hear you say that," the first drone muttered in response.

Steve snorted through his vents and was about to reply when he felt a tap at his shoulder. He looked back to see Switchgear. The other drone's plating was still warm from the atmosphere in the lower decks. He walked by without stopping, on his way to grab his own cube. Steve glanced back to the drones he was sitting with; they had optic bands for little else but the ship on the data pad. He couldn't really blame them. A good many of the Nemesis's current ranks were created after the Decepticons had left Cybertron. To see something from their own homeworld was somewhat mystifying to them.

 _All the easier for me to slink away_ , he thought to himself. "Be right back, guys." He stood, plucking his cube up in one hand and trailing over to the table where Switchgear was taking a seat. He waited politely for the other to finish hooking up his hose before he tilted his head interrogatively.

"Here you go," Switchgear handed over a data pad. "Loaded up. This morning they were working on the disruption field. Officers rarely come down to the lower decks at all--and especially not now with that blasted heat--and we were running on a skeleton crew. Still, the field was more important. The sort of conversion they did was not a simple one, and Soundwave had it done in four hours! Can you imagine?"

His innocent blathering, of course, carried a second message. The four hours of intense focus on the disruption field had given him time to delve into the Nemesis's records and grab the data he needed, as well as (hopefully) cover his tracks. Steve nodded and subspaced the data pad. "Thanks, Switch. You're the best."

Switchgear waved him off. "Frankly, I am just happy to be away from that humidity. Urgh. Feels like my fans were churning a soup." After a moment, he cocked his head and asked, "So when…?"

"The end of this week, if everything goes well," Steve replied with a sigh. "I don't know why I have to wait until then, but if that's what he wants, that's what he gets. I don't know whether I'm more nervous or excited."

"Well,  _we_ are nervous," Switchgear answered somewhat stiffly, "so be sure to contact me or 404 as soon as you're dismissed back to your quarters, all right? Goodness knows otherwise we'll both be up half the night worrying."

"Done deal." Steve nodded.

* * *

As if to make up for such an eventful morning, the rest of the afternoon passed without much incident. Aside from the fiasco where one of the drones fell into the river and had to be fished out (404, Soundwave noted, as he scheduled him for yet another week of vent-cleaning duty), there was nothing much to report to Megatron at the end of the day except for the amount of energon harvested.

The same was true of the second day (except for 404 falling into the river, of course). This day was by far the most productive, since the mining site was already prepared. A skeleton crew had stayed below to continue operations at night, and the main surge of daytime laborers brought forth an impressive haul of energon.

The third day likewise passed without incident, and at the end of his shift, Soundwave found himself in his quarters again, thinking. Professionally, Soundwave was quite pleased. This was very good for the army, not just for practical reasons, but for morale. The drones were programmed to be loyal, but everyone worked more enthusiastically when they were happy. However, "without incident" applied to more than just the mining operation. In the three days, Megatron had scarcely said ten words to Soundwave, and none of them beyond the ordinary.

He had not once taken Soundwave aside. He had perhaps been slightly more attentive, but it was only noticeable to one who was looking for such a change. In his room, Soundwave was pacing again. Megatron had wrought more unusual reactions out of him in the space of a week than many mechs had in a year. Of course, there were few mechs as important to Soundwave as Megatron. It had always been this way, even before…  _this._

There had to be a reason for this behavior, but Soundwave didn't know what it could be. He didn't think that Megatron had lost interest in all of this. He did not make decisions lightly, and certainly  _never_  empty gestures. Was there something wrong here? Something misunderstood?

He recognized that for the foolishness it was. Logic weighed heavily against there being some sort of misunderstanding. The terms were laid out as clearly as they could possibly have been. And yet Soundwave was… worried. He stopped pacing. He was worried, because he had gotten used to this idea. Had gotten to like this idea. He was worried because he  _wanted_  this. At some point in the past three days, he can gone from acceptance to the first trickles of desire. Megatron, however, was carrying on as if nothing had happened at all. There had to be a purpose…

Perhaps this was another one of Megatron and Starscream's games?

Soundwave was startled by how much that thought  _hurt_ , and then immediately became agitated with himself. He had always known emotions could be a weakness. Some of them had inevitably crept into his life. His attachment to his symbionts was, of course, one of those, but he rarely ever invited such feelings, and now that he had, he suspected that he might have set himself up for the exact sort of vulnerability that he sought to avoid.

He was upset by all of this, and it irritated him. The fact that he was irritated  _also_ irritated him, because being irritated was just not something he  _did_. More than any of these things, however, Soundwave was confused. It was very rare that Soundwave did not know what to do, but he found himself standing in his room, consumed with his half-formed ideas and the conflicting feelings they stirred in him. He felt a ping from the symbiont folded against his back. Ravage said, simply,  _Go and talk to him about it._ When Soundwave expressed a mental wave of uncertainty, his symbiont pressed,  _Are you or are you_ not _his Intended?_ Soundwave thought to himself that Ravage was impudent.

Of course Ravage was impudent. He was a  _cat._

He was also right, though. Soundwave needed to talk to his Lord, and he needed to do it alone. He received instant protests from both of his symbionts, but when he insisted, they both relented. Laserbeak detached and perched on the edge of his berth. Ravage hopped free, strolling nonchalantly across the floor and leaping onto the bed, resting his head on his paws. Soundwave nodded to them. This entire debacle was beginning to seem like more trouble than it was worth, but whatever the outcome, he had his symbionts.

They both sent him wordless mental affirmations. Thus bolstered, Soundwave left.

* * *

A few moments later found him outside of Megatron's quarters. He had pinged his Lord and requested to speak with him immediately upon leaving his room. He had assumed that Megatron would be on the bridge, or perhaps in the one of the security control rooms, but Megatron had simply requested that Soundwave come to his quarters. The resolve that Soundwave had felt in his own room had not diminished at all. If things really weren't what they seemed, he needed to know now so that he could put all of this unpleasantness behind him. If they were what they seemed and Megatron was simply absolutely awful at courting… well, Soundwave could deal with that. He didn't expect he would be the best at romantic affairs, himself. Romance and the Decepticon agenda did not tend to mix well.

He alerted his Lord of his presence and stepped inside. Megatron was waiting for him, standing in the center of the room with his red optics trained down on his smaller Third. His quarters were rather spartan, and seldom used--Megatron was a robust creature, and inclined to shun rest until it was absolutely necessary. The door hissed shut behind Soundwave. They were alone.

And now Soundwave didn't know what to say.

He lowered his visor for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then raised it to look his leader in the optics--as much as he was able to, with his own optic-less face--and sent him a non-verbal comm.  _Query: status of courtship still applicable?_

Megatron blinked and looked momentarily startled. Soundwave didn't know how to feel about it. He might have been amused, had he not been so disgustingly and unavoidably nervous. That look could either mean,  _What is Soundwave talking about? Of_ course  _it is_ , or  _He's figured things out faster than I thought he would._ For a moment Soundwave was left wondering, steeling himself for whatever response he would receive, and then Megatron said, "Of course it is, Soundwave. Unless you are here to express desire otherwise?"

Soundwave knew he should take his Lord's word and accept it. It was what he had always done in the past. Things were changing, however, and he scraped up the impudence to say, in his own, wordless way,  _Megatron: has not expressed any outward signs of courtship. Soundwave: uncertain as to reason, left to speculate._

Megatron put his head to one side slightly, his expression unreadable, even to Soundwave. "You are asking why I have not treated you any differently since confirming our courtship?"

_Affirmative._

Megatron's response was simple. "I had assumed that is what you would have wanted."

Soundwave went absolutely still for a moment, physically, mentally, emotionally. Then relief and realization thundered through him. It was as simple as Megatron had said. He assumed Soundwave would not want any outward display of emotion, would not want any change, and had thus refrained. The idea that his best attempt at romance was to be as non-romantic as possible sent the faintest flicker of relieved amusement through Soundwave. He couldn't be blamed for such an assumption, though. After all, their current dynamic had secured his absolute loyalty (there was more to it than professionalism, Soundwave admitted to himself, there was devotion there, and they both knew it now). Megatron, who was not inclined, in  _any_ way, to be romantic, had approached it the way he thought Soundwave would have preferred: In a logical, subdued fashion. For a mech who rarely spoke a word, an unspoken understanding would definitely seem like the best means to carry out a courtship.

"I apologize, Soundwave. I am…" Megatron let out a mildly exasperated vent. "As you might surmise, not good at this. I assumed you would want a partner more in tune with your own mannerisms."

Soundwave's response was succinct.  _Megatron: desired as he is._

This earned a flickering of a sharp-toothed smile. Megatron seemed pleased and proud of such a declaration. For a moment longer the silence stretched, only now it was settling into a calmer, more comfortable silence. "You seem relieved," Megatron rumbled.

Soundwave was almost certain that he had not displayed any such emotion, but all the same, Megatron knew. He  _was_  relieved. The silent mech nodded silently up at his Lord.

"Does this mean… you have been courted?"

Soundwave paused only a moment before he shook his head. When Megatron cocked a brow-ridge, Soundwave immediately sent a wordless communication to him conveying the gravity of this decision. Bonding was permanent, and it would effect more than his life. It would also effect the futures of Ravage and Laserbeak, and Megatron  _knew_  how important they were to him. This simply meant that… he was more amenable to the prospect of being courted than before. That he really did want this to progress.

"I had thought," Megatron responded, "that we established that."

Soundwave tilted his head and sent a communication that said, simply,  _This: to be considered final confirmation._

Megatron gave a low chuckle. "So be it." The tension finished draining then, and with it the awkwardness. It was an odd moment for Soundwave. There was a sense of some difficulty surmounted jointly, leaving only in its wake an atmosphere of mutual accord. Romance? Probably not, but it was as close as a Decepticon was likely to get. "Nevertheless," Megatron went on, somewhat unexpectedly, "I have made an error. It is my duty to see to it that you feel wanted, and I have not."

Soundwave made no reply.

A sudden grin split his lord features, an expression of predatory glee that Soundwave had only ever seen in the face of battle. "Allow me to remedy this."

And then he found himself pinioned by that stare. Oh. Oh,  _that_ was what he had meant. Well, then. The atmosphere was changing rapidly, but Megatron waited, his suddenly quite-intense stare focused on the smaller mech. Finally, a response was given.  _Soundwave: willing to be convinced._

This earned him a chuckle, and then Megatron was stepping forward, and Soundwave felt the flare of his EM field brushing against his own. Megatron's was rich, immured with his own power, thrumming almost like a physical force against his plating. Soundwave felt it shot through with something dark and ancient, something that was both  _other_  and yet undeniably Megatron's, and he felt his own field surging in response almost instinctively. Something in Soundwave's EM field released with a snap, flooding the frequencies found there and surprising both Decepticons with its intensity.

Megatron was more than willing to press his newfound advantage, though. The warlord's claws came to his side, scraping across the complicated angles of Soundwave's armor and trailing down to absently trace the glowing patterns of his abdominal plating. He was startlingly gentle, and Soundwave was acutely aware as those claws slid up again, dragging their pointed tips through a seam with a startling amount of skill, that these were the very same claws that had literally ripped mechs limb from limb in the gladiator pits.

Megatron stood very close, his silvery bulk looming over Soundwave, a second hand coming up to explore the contours of Soundwave's body in concert with the first. The smaller mech shuddered and felt his plating rising, allowing his Lord better access to the sensitive protometal underneath. Megatron was not one to pass up a tactical opportunity, and dipped his claws fingers into the new gaps in the armor, fleetingly, teasingly, until Soundwave squirmed.

Soundwave raised his own arms, intending to reciprocate, but Megatron's hands wound their way around to his back, his great silver arms encircling Soundwave, and in the end Soundwave ended up just reaching for his shoulders, stretching his body in a long, slow arch as Megatron's hands traced their way up the complex angles of his back, and then back down lower, lower--Soundwave shivered and his fingers tightened.

This seemed to be some hitherto-unknown signal, because Soundwave found himself suddenly and bodily lifted. He was pressed against the wall beside the door, not roughly, but firmly, and Megatron hooked his hands under Soundwave's legs, spreading them and directing them to his waist. Soundwave obligingly bent them around his Lord's midsection, and in this manner allowed himself to be pinned up against the wall while Megatron lowered his mouth to do unspeakable things to his neck cabling with his glossa.

To say that Soundwave was surprised would not be entirely true. Lord Megatron's unexpected gentleness and skill were both shocking, to be sure, but Soundwave was not wasting his time wondering where the Pit Megatron has learned to do  _that_  with his teeth, but rather just enjoying it thoroughly.

Megatron's hand drifted down, scraping Soundwave's inner thigh with his knuckles. Soundwave pushed back against him encouragingly, and Megatron did so again, drawing away from Soundwave's neck to look down, clearly enjoying the spectacle of the lithe mech arching beneath him. Soundwave somewhat dizzily thought that he should do something, but he had been taken rather by surprise, and the only thing he could think of now was to react.

Megatron's hand closed over his codpiece, and Soundwave's hips surged upward against his palm. A low rumble of approval worked its way up from Megatron's engine. He pushed, and Soundwave pushed back, the slight pressure more maddening than he would have ever thought possible. His hips found a rhythm, much to his own surprise-and then Megatron was pulling his hand away.

A low, wordless sound of disapproval worked itself free of Soundwave's vocalizer. He froze when he realized what he'd done. He'd been so caught up that he had forgotten who he was dealing with, had forgotten his place… but Megatron just chuckled lowly at the sound, apparently encouraged by Soundwave's boldness. Soundwave let his visor flick up once, taking in the sight of the enormous warlord looming over him, nearly encompassing him with the whole of his powerful body.

Arousal curled through his circuits, thick and sudden and undeniable. He shifted the grip of his legs and ground his hips insistently against Megatron's abdomen. The feral grin on the warlord's face widened and he reached down to cup Soundwave's aft with one hand, drawing him closer. Soundwave rolled his hips against Megatron again, spurred on by Megatron's low rumbles of approval and a good few million years' worth of sexual frustration he hadn't really known he had felt until he found himself here, his internal temperature climbing steadily upwards with each touch. When Megatron rather roughly tugged him upwards, Soundwave's hips responded with a whip crack of pressure and he saw the flicker in his Lord's eyes. Gentleness had a time and a place, but Soundwave was no longer interested in being gentle.

Megatron leaned down to worry Soundwave's neck cabling again, and Soundwave felt those sharp teeth against the delicate wiring. He shuddered and another sound escaped him, a low, multi-toned moan, a sound which was at once encouragement and a plea, he  _wanted this_ -

"Sir!"

Megatron froze. Soundwave froze against him. After a moment, Megatron heaved through his vents and raised his head, looking quite annoyed. "This had better be important," he snarled.

"Yes, sir!" It was one of the drones working on the bridge, comming Megatron through the Nemesis's PA system. "It's pretty much as important as they come, sir, I know you're in your quarters with orders not to be disturbed-"

" _On with it!"_

"A second ship has entered the atmosphere, sir. We think it's a pod, a directed pod. It's going to hit the dirt pretty soon, sir."

"Send a scout out to investigate it." Megatron leaned up, helping bolster Soundwave against the wall. His Intended was venting harshly, the movement visible as a slow expansion and contraction of his chest plating, feeling somewhat dazed. He had… he had gotten worked up embarrassingly quickly. Megatron had barely even had to try, and Soundwave had to admit to a bit of sheepishness over the fact. Even so, he was willing to let Megatron work him up embarrassingly quickly again if they could just get on with it. "It is most likely merely detritus following the cargo vessel into orbit."

"Well, sir, see, that's what we thought, only it's sending out a distress signal, sir. On a Decepticon band." There was a pause, and then, the drone added, nervously, "Sir."

Megatron's eyes widened slightly. Soundwave went utterly still against him. Megatron looked down into his faceless screen once, apparently trying to make some kind of decision--before he eventually pulled away, letting Soundwave set his own pedes on the floor once more. Soundwave continued to stare at him. When Megatron cocked a brow interrogatively, Soundwave nodded, willing his bristled plating to settle against his frame once more. The decision was made.

"Prepare a squadron to run interference." Megatron replied, "we'll bring our comrade in."

As one, they left his quarters and headed to the bridge.


	6. Signs and Cyphers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last repost before I dive into the story again! This chapter deals pretty heavily with events discussed in the Alex Irvine novels. I made an effort to include them in a fashion that would be understandable for people who haven't read them, but if any readers are confused on any points or have any questions, let me know!

 

 

**Chapter 5 - Signs and Cyphers**

An hour after dawn, the cavalry arrived, screaming across the skies of Nicaragua. The ship and the pod pursuing it had both come down in the northeast savanna region of the country, in the barren, wild lands somewhere along the eastern coast. It was the morning of the fourth day since the ship's initial crash, and though the Decepticons didn't anticipate that MECH would still be lingering, they had not only dispatched a handful of Eradicons, but Starscream, as well, to attend to their comrade.

A column of smoke rose, stark against the sky, and as the fliers drew nearer they saw the source of which-a large, burning MECH transport vehicle, and behind it, a hunched form. The humans were still scattered about, some of them firing at the pinned mech, some of them attending to wounded comrades, and a few of them hastily packing up gear and supplies. Behind them, the remains of the cargo hauler could be seen, the ship's nose buried in the dirt. It had been blasted open, one side shorn away as if by a great blade. The vessel's hull was streaked with scorch marks. The signs of battle were everywhere.

The mech's escape pod had landed out in the open, and he had clearly been attempting to dive for cover behind a ridge nearby, when he'd gotten pinned behind the vehicle. It was the only defensible position in the otherwise unbroken flatness of the plains. Though the vehicle was protecting him from the worst of the fire, it wouldn't last-especially since a MECH helicopter was rising above the ground. It wasn't one of their small, sleeker vehicles, either; this one was huge and bulky, obviously meant as a carrier.

Carrier or no, it was bristling with armaments, and Starscream declared it the immediate concern of his troops. He barked for the two drones in the rear of the formation to provide assistance to the pinned mech while he and the remaining four took care of the helicopter. The five attackers broke away, Starscream corkscrewing through the air, straight for the helicopter, while the drones fanned out behind him.

The two left behind immediately began to lay down a barrage of covering fire in a line directly before the MECH aggressors; the humans dove for cover, and the mech seized his opportunity, charging for the ridge. It only took a glance of his enormous, dark form (crisscrossed with glinting scars and adorned with the curved flare of Cybertronian rotors) for the drones to recognize him.

Blackout.

Meanwhile, Starscream was drawing the fire of the helicopter while the drones arced around it in all directions, filling the air with hissing energy bolts. The first pass yielded no results, and the aerial squad twisted around for a second while the chopper filled the air with singing shards of shrapnel. One of the drones took a hit, fire blossoming along the joint where one wing array met his chassis, and he went spiraling to the ground. A moment later, though, the squad unleashed the second barrage, and the copter was hit; it went sliding suddenly across the sky; another successful shot sent it spinning to the ground after the drone.

Starscream brought them around for another sweep, feeling a surge of satisfaction. He began searching for his next most important tactical target, only to find that the humans were fleeing. They had green off-road vehicles instead of the normal low-slung sports cars, some of them roofless, and a handful of them larger, bulkier, and evidently armored. The humans were pouring into them, leaving many of their supplies behind in their haste. A few bedraggled MECH officers clambered their way out of the downed helicopter, which was largely intact, thanks to its sturdy design and low altitude at the time of the battle.

Starscream let the drones harry the humans on their way, making potshots as they did, but he reeled them back in before they could give pursuit in earnest. They were here for a specific purpose. He turned his nose to the air, shooting straight up, and the Eradicons joined him, creating a v-formation effortlessly as he twisted into the rise, following as he arced back towards the ground and dove, and in one graceful, smooth motion, plates shifting as they switched to root mode, they all landed on the ground before Blackout, who was now leaving his cover.

That is, all except for the damaged Eradicon, who hobbled up a few moments later and stood at attention near the end of the formation.

Blackout met Starscream's eye evenly, but inclined his helm in respect for his superior officer. He was an enormous fellow, a mech who had survived his harsh early years in the Badlands, and had met Megatron as a fellow gladiator in the pits of Kaon. The two had never squared off, but even so, Blackout treated Megatron with deep respect and utmost loyalty. He didn't care for Starscream, though, and that was because in a past bid for power, Starscream had nearly killed him. That was hundreds of years ago, of course, but old neither mech had ever felt inclined to let go of the grudge.

"So good to see you again, Blackout," Starscream droned in a tone of voice that did not convey joy so much as a vague sense of boredom. "Let me guess--in a few more minutes you would have had them?"

This was the first time many of the drones had stood in the mighty gladiator's presence. A few of them were staring, the movements of their blank faces tracing the scars and weld marks adorning Blackout's armor. He wore the evidence of his past battles on his body like a trophy. "Your assistance," he boomed, in a voice like a roll of thunder, "is appreciated. Tell me, Starscream, what world is this? Do you lead the Decepticons now?"

"I don't," the Seeker replied with distaste, "and you are on the planet Earth. I'll let Lord Megatron fill you in on the particulars. In the meantime, though, you might want to go about getting yourself a disguise." He nodded over his shoulder at the heavy-duty helicopter on the ground behind them. His tone was scathing as he went on, "We are taking care of some  _important business_ , and we need to be back as soon as possible."

While Blackout set about scanning the vehicle, Starscream investigated the area. One of the drones was helping his wounded comrade get quickly patched up for the fly home. The humans must not have found anything valuable there if they'd been so quick to retreat. Then again, they'd been rather helplessly outnumbered. As he strolled the grounds, he picked up on a myriad of little details (wide tire tracks, scorch marks from Cybertronian weaponry that he knew his drones had not dispatched today, a pair of upside-down vehicles next to one long furrow in the dirt) that the Autobots must have been there sometime earlier.

Why would the Autobots retreat, if they hadn't been able to rout the humans away from the area?

"I am ready, sir." Blackout finally called, having already assumed his new alt-mode. His enormous rotors churned the air around him, sending dust in sweeping arcs along the battlefield. Starscream watched as one of the tire-tracks in the dust slowly became indistinct, melting back into the natural surroundings.

Oh, well. Autobots and their motivations weren't his problem. "Drones! To me!" And as one, they rose into the air once more.

* * *

The medbay was ready for Blackout's arrival. The enormous mech reclined on the med berth while Knock Out studiously set about repairing his wounds, old and new (inwardly cringing at the way Blackout had allowed his body to become so heavily scarred) while the rotary got a basic rundown of the situation from Breakdown. The two mechs had known each other back on Cybertron, and Breakdown seemed happy enough to spot a familiar face. As Breakdown began to explain, in his own gruff way, that Megatron had chosen Soundwave as a Bondmate, Blackout rumbled his approval.

"Possibly the only reasonable choice he could have made."

Knock Out glanced up from his work, and for the first time since Blackout's arrival, spoke. "Is that so? Most of us assumed he would take Starscream."

"Starscream would be a poor choice. Soundwave is level-headed and loyal, in every way a suitable complement to Lord Megatron." Knock Out and Breakdown exchanged glances over the bulk of the recumbent former gladiator.

As if on cue, Megatron chose that moment to enter. Knock Out and Breakdown fell silent as he spoke with his long-lost soldier, and insofar as they could tell, he seemed relatively pleased that Blackout was back. He looked to Knock Out, silently seeking confirmation of his status, and when the medic nodded, he returned his attention to Blackout. "Refuel and recharge, Blackout, and tomorrow you will tell me how you came to find us on this world." He glanced to Breakdown, nodding, "Show him to the mess." Breakdown reached out, taking Blackout's massive hand in his own, and helped haul the other off the berth. The two bulky mechs lumbered out, striking up a new conversation before they'd even left the medbay. Megatron watched them go, a look of satisfaction settling over his features. This new development was going to end well for the Decepticons. He could feel it.

"Sir."

He half-turned to bring Knock Out into view. The medic was standing straight and still, his expression set and unexpectedly grim. "I need to talk to you." He crossed the medbay, plucking up a data pad. "It's about the preliminary examination."

The warlord's powerful frame tensed almost imperceptibly- _almost._ "Yes?"

Knock Out studied him for a moment. He knew the consequences of delivering bad news to his Lord. Megatron rarely distinguished the message from the messenger. "I'll need you to call Soundwave, as well," he said, and it was his tone, rather than his words, that conveyed what he meant by it.

Megatron's eyes narrowed a hairsbreadth, but he nodded. He had no idea what was going on, but one thing was certain: it wasn't good.

* * *

Steve was nervous. As soon as Starscream had returned to the  _Nemesis_ , he had pulled the nearest drone aside and asked him to get in touch with "the one who calls himself 'Steve.'" He was needed, it seemed, but Steve was not quite prepared to meet with Starscream. He had all of the requested material, of course, but the suddenness of the summons (which he had believed would occur several days later, at the end of the week, as he'd been told) had left him nervous and off-guard.

He arrived at Starscream's quarters with a cube of energon in his hands and the data pad that Switchgear had given him tucked securely in his subspace. As he entered, Starscream fixed him with a penetrating stare, but didn't speak until Steve cleared his vocalizer and said, "It's me, sir." Though Starscream obviously had difficulty distinguishing Vehicons apart by appearance, he at least remembered the sound of Steve's voice.

Starscream nodded and waved him further into the room while he swept past the grounder and locked the door. "Well?" He asked abruptly. Steve dithered, still holding the cube with both hands, and Starscream stalked impatiently up to him, scooping it the cube up and waving for the drone to follow him. He sat at a desk, watching Steve closely while the drone pulled the datapad free.

"Here," he said simply, feeling confused, foolish, and more than a little unsure of himself. The confidence he'd felt earlier was lost somewhere in a sea of apprehension and worry. He didn't feel devious or exhilarated anymore. He just felt out of his depth.

Starscream took the datapad, his crimson optics flicking over the surface. Almost immediately he returned his attention to Steve's face, his own drawn with anger. "What," he snarled, "is this drivel?"

"Sir?" Steve took an instinctive step forward to look at the data pad himself. Too late, he realized he was walking into Starscream's personal space, and that such an act was surely an invitation to violence, to retaliation… but Starscream just angled the data pad so that they both could see it, and Steve shuffled a little closer, reacting on instinctive obedience. He realized the problem at once. "Oh-it's shorthand, sir. Drone shorthand. The datapad that we're issued have limited memory, so to get as much information in them as possible…"

"You have your own code?" Starscream asked, glancing sidelong to the face hovering over his shoulder.

"Well, sort of." Something about the unexpected proximity lanced through the fog of anxiety clouding his thoughts, and Steve felt a little bit of his confidence return, and an idea immediately sprang into his processor. "It's in shorthand just in case you were caught. What you're doing isn't technically against the rules, but…"

"Mmm." Starscream nodded, and Steve silently thanked Switchgear with all of his spark for thinking to code the message.

"Here, I'll help you out." Steve let the end of his sentence hang, waiting for some sort of assent from Starscream. The air commander nodded, and he plunged on, showing Starscream the trick of working through the shorthand glyphs, slowly unraveling the message. Starscream was not an unintelligent mech--on the contrary, despite his moodiness and his frequent blunders, he possessed a very sharp intellect--but even so, getting the hang of a sub-dialect that had evolved over several hundred years' worth of servitude took some getting used to.

Steve found his nervousness melting as he began to concentrate on the translation process, explaining nuances and linguistic circumstances that he'd taken for granted. A small, unconscious part of him was thrilled to be so near Starscream, but as the story of Megatron's Third began to unwind through their efforts, the narrative began to command his full attention.

Switchgear had made notations throughout the report, and he opened with the accurate statement that most of Soundwave's early history was unknown. He had simply appeared one day in the gladiator pits.  _He is possibly the first true documented Decepticon,_ Switchgear had noted,  _and some even go so far as to say he might have been_ responsible _for Megatron's rise. If he had any ties with government forces of that time, it has never come to light, and he has never seen fit to claim any privilege for such a role._

"He's also changed his alt-mode a few times," Steve noted, as he paraphrased a few of Switchgear's notes. "But aren't carriers supposed to be able to do that?" He glanced to Starscream. At some point, their faces had gotten rather close. Steve hadn't noticed, but it was impossible to ignore now; a thrill went through him, brief and electric.

"Some can," Starscream replied simply.

"It also says here that even though Soundwave controlled a lot of minicons, he only ever spawned four." Steve cocked his head. "I didn't know that."

"He had a  _swarm_ of them," Starscream gave his head a slight shake. "Most of them were half-mindless, insect-like  _things_. They climbed all over him, like he was some sort of hive." The Air Commander's face twisted in disgust.

"He lost all of those?" Steve asked, incredulous.

"Most of them weren't even his to begin with." Starscream shook his head. "The only ones he ever cared about were his four."

"Laserbeak, Ravage, Rumble, and Frenzy." Steve confirmed. Starscream nodded, and they both turned back to the narrative.

Most of Soundwave's role as the war raged across Cybertron was well-known. His motivations were enigmatic in the beginning, but as soon as the conflict began, it became apparent that he was fiercely loyal to Megatron, never straying far from his side unless directed elsewhere. All of his energy was poured into his service to the Decepticon cause, even after both forces left Cybertron.

The events at Velocitron and Junkion were common knowledge; many of the older drones even remembered them. It was before Steve's time, but he'd been given first-hand accounts of the battles. The report skimmed over those events: After leaving Cybertron, the Decepticon forces arrived at the populated world of Velocitron, which had already been ravaged by the early stages of a civil war. Their forces were augmented by new followers, and then they plunged on in pursuit of the Autobots to Junkion. The Decepticon and Autobot forces had clashed in a magnificent battle royale at the planet, but in the middle of it all a third faction neither side had anticipated had made itself known.  _The Decepticon forces at the time were a tight, devastating machine,_ Switchgear had noted. Steve could practically hear the pride in his voice.  _Our opponents stood no chance._

Until the pirates came along.

For years since their interference at the Battle for Junkion, the interstellar pirates known as the Star Seekers (as they apparently called themselves) had been a thorn in the side of Decepticons and Autobots alike. Their leader, Thundertron, hated Cybertronians and had apparently sworn some sort of vengeance against them. At first his attacks and raids were mere hindrances. The Decepticons, after all, had bigger fish to fry, and would not be distracted from their hunt for the Autobots.

Eventually, though, it became obvious that the pirates would have to be dealt with. A series of particularly devastating attacks convinced Megatron that even though the pirates were fewer in number, they were consummate explorers would could make more destruction with less supplies and manpower than any Cybertronian either faction had yet encountered. They had charted the regions of space through which the Autobots were fleeing and the Decepticons were pursuing, and thus were at a significant advantage as far as hiding places, strike points, and supplies went. Putting an end to their attacks once and for all became the top priority of the Nemesis's crew.

"Soundwave was instrumental in deciphering the communication between the pirates' ships," Steve read. "That was important because the pirate forces were so scattered that it was hard to make any kind of reasonable dent in their numbers."

Starscream nodded. "I remember that. It was like swatting at cyberflies.  _Very_  irritating."

And eventually, through weeks of feints and countless communication interceptions, they'd found the Star Seeker's base in a hollowed-out asteroid. The outdated and half-accurate charts that the Nemesis was working with identified it as Asteroid TTG-1, but the Star Seekers called it Tortuga.

"I remember the raid on Tortuga." A slow grin spread over Starscream's features. "We'd been very clever about it. They had absolutely no idea that we'd tapped their communications. They were totally unprepared for the strike."

Even so, the battle for Tortuga had been an impressively destructive one. The pirates were fighting on their home turf, but the Decepticons were battle-hardened warriors.  _There are no good records of the event itself, or at least not written ones,_ Switchgear wrote,  _Though there were heavy casualties on both sides, all records after this show that pirate attacks on the Decepticon forces were subdued. The battle itself split our forces, however, and many mechs who went missing during that time have simply never resurfaced._

Steve read this part aloud, and then paused as he came to the end of the statement. "…'another occurrence worth noting is that this is the last time that there are any records, whatsoever, of Soundwave speaking.'" He glanced to Starscream, who had a tense, uncomfortable expression on his face. "This is when Rumble and Frenzy went…  _missing,_ isn't it?"

Starscream nodded.

Steve glanced back to the datapad, and both mechs fell silent for a long few moments. Neither of them were good mechs. There was no mercy in their heart for weaker life-forms, no pity for the Autobots that their duty demanded they fight. They were different in that Steve was a warrior and Starscream was a schemer and a scientist, but they were  _both_ Decepticons. Conquest was their life's ambition, and the fury of battle was the road they'd travel to reach that. Even so, there were some things sacred to all Cybertronians.

The bond between a carrier and his symbiont was one such thing.

"He blames  _himself_ ," Steve said softly. "We would never have found that asteroid if it wasn't for him…"

Starscream leaned back in his chair, frustrated and confused. Though this report was telling him a little more about Soundwave than he previously knew, which he wanted, it certainly didn't bring to light any evidence that would help him uncover any signs of disloyalty. Soundwave's silent ways, his standoffish mannerisms, these were easily explained by personal preferences and past traumas. Soundwave was as strong and vicious and ruthless as any Decepticon, and in some ways much more stoic, but he was not an unfeeling being. He was a  _Cybertronian._

Starscream couldn't deny that things were progressing. Starscream was more attuned to Megatron's moods than many other mechs, Soundwave included. He hadn't missed the possessive glint in his Lord's eye when he watched Soundwave walk away from him, that extra, resonate frequency of gratification in his EM field when they were in a room together. The signs were subtle, subtler than most mechs' would be in such a situation, but they were there.

And he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Starscream did not like facing defeat. In such instances, he often simply decided that the fight was not worth his effort. He leaned back in his chair, releasing an exasperated vent. "That's… that's enough for now." There wasn't much left in the report. Even without being totally fluent in drone shorthand, he could see that much. "I need to think about this."

Steve nodded obediently and took a step back. Starscream's attention was suddenly drawn to him once more, and his optics narrowed slightly. This drone knew a lot. He was in a position of distinct advantage. What they had done was technically not against any established rules, but since when did Megatron need a reason to vent his displeasure? If this Steve took it into his head to turn on him, where would he be?

He continued to hold the Vehicon with his stare. Steve remained blank, impassive.

If there was scheming going on in that head of his, Starscream couldn't sense it. Instead, mute obedience radiated from Steve's tightly-wound EM field. The Vehicon was docile, pliable. Subservient. He was  _useful._ He could stay. Starscream nodded to him, "You're dismissed. I'll have you sent for if I need you."

"Yes, sir."

"Be ready," Starscream warned.

Steve nodded again, and there was more enthusiasm in his voice rather than less when he repeated, once more, "Yes, sir!"

* * *

"There's a problem," Knock Out began, "with Soundwave's spark."

The communications chief had no outward physical response to this. He merely stood, as still as ever, but he felt a sharp coldness go through his frame at the words. He felt Megatron, at his side, tense, and before Knock Out could speak again, the Lord of Decepticons asked, "Is he in mortal danger?"

Knock Out shook his head. "Not as far as I know." He glanced to his datapad. "I've monitored sparks before. Most recently, yours." He nodded to Megatron, referring, of course, to the period of time in which Megatron lay comatose in the medbay. "Most sparks maintain a constant output of energy. The spark sustains the frame, which sustains the spark. That's common knowledge. Even in your  _former_  state, my Lord, your spark retained a sense of balance. Soundwave's does not."

He went on, "I had him hooked up to my monitors for two hours. In that time, his spark energy readings rose and fell  _quite_  sharply. There's a pattern to the ebb and flow, which suggests whatever's responsible for this has more to do with his frame than anything else. He's not in any danger of collapsing, but at the same time, his spark doesn't maintain the steady, strong pulse that a normal spark would."

Megatron nodded. "You called us both here because you have more to say than just that."

This prompted a return nod from Knock Out. "I can't tell you why his spark is… the way it is. It might have something to do with the fact that he's a carrier. Very little is known about carriers and their symbionts, and what records I might  _otherwise_  have access to are  _destroyed."_ He paused. "But I think it  _could_  present problems in either sparking or hosting a newspark. I'm not even sure a bond itself would be feasible."

Soundwave remained as outwardly inscrutable as ever, but he felt that coldness searing deeper. Part of him was frustrated for letting this effect him so strongly, so emotionally, but he was powerless to stop himself from feeling such a great, crushing disappointment. It seemed absurd that he had allowed this to grow so important to him in the past few days, but he had been bestowed an honor, he had been singled out to be a part of something great, and now…

Now he didn't know what was going to happen.

"I can't be sure, of course. I've scoured the records of everything we picked up from the Junkions and Velocitronians. I've even checked the logs of the few recruits we picked up along the way. We just don't  _know_  enough about this for me to make any kind of informed decision. Perhaps Soundwave's ability to create life on his own precludes him from creating it by other means." Knock Out shook his head. "I don't know. I  _do_  know that there  _is_ a chance that he can't produce an heir, and that is something you should both know."

Knock Out had said what he needed to say, and now he fell silent. Though the doctor was trying to hide it, he was quite nervous. It had taken a lot of courage to be the one to tell Megatron this awful news. Knock Out was vain, and he was wicked, but he  _did_ take his job seriously. A long silence stretched while Megatron absorbed the information. When he glanced to Soundwave, his third-in-command looked back to him.

Soundwave remained mute, pushing down any sign of emotion. No matter what Megatron said, it wouldn't change his loyalty to him or to the cause. Soundwave wasn't going to throw away millions of years of service because of one crushed hope. His stance and blank screen of a face gave away nothing, leaving the choice entirely in Megatron's hands.

Megatron stared at Soundwave as he said, "Thank you, Knock Out." That was probably the most surprising thing that had come out of his mouth since he'd declared Soundwave as his Intended. "But for my part, this changes nothing." Then again… "I have made my choice."

Soundwave stood stock-still, feeling himself fill with a sensation he couldn't quite name.

"If we cannot produce an heir, then we will appoint one. I do not choose a potential Bondmate lightly." He continued to stare at Soundwave. "However, at this point, it is not my decision to make alone."

Soundwave didn't hesitate. He replayed Megatron's words right back at him,  _"-this changes nothing. I have made my choice."_

Megatron's expression remained impassive for a moment longer, and he nodded once, as if in respect for the gravity of what was happening. Then he grinned, sudden and sharp and unexpectedly feral, and added, "If it is simply a matter of difficulty, then we shall have to… increase our efforts." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Often."

Soundwave nodded once, slowly, the sedate simplicity of the movement a sharp contrast to what he felt, which was a deep, very visceral willingness to try. Often. And vigorously.

Knock Out, for his part, was caught somewhere between awkwardness and relief. "That's excellent. If you'll allow it, I'd like to investigate this a little further, for Soundwave's safety, of course." Despite his words, it was obvious that Knock Out was primarily interested for the novelty of the situation, for the chance of investigating a medical mystery that nobody had encountered before. Soundwave nodded, and then Knock Out dived into the tests he wanted to run, and the next half-hour was largely taken up in a very one-sided discussion on what would need to be investigated.

Soundwave nodded when it was appropriate, and replayed bits of dialogue back to Knock Out as the doctor spoke to give his acquiescence or his opinion on this or that procedure, but in truth, he was a bit distracted. He was thinking about what Knock Out had said, about how his spark went through periods where it lost energy. Megatron remained quiet, standing stoically by his side, and Soundwave was startlingly grateful for the silent show of solidarity.

But his mind kept going back to that simple notion. His spark was losing energy. Soundwave didn't understand these matters any more than Knock Out did-perhaps even less so, but he could only think of one logical explanation as to why that would be so. He was missing something valuable to him, something that had been a part of his spark, some severed loose end that had been a part of him and was now gone.

Rumble and Frenzy.

Standing there in the medbay, with nothing but the smooth cadence of Knock Out's voice and the distant hum of the machinery around him, Soundwave finally,  _finally_ let go of a tentative hope he'd been harboring for thousands of years. It happened, slowly, bit by bit, and the full weight of it didn't come crashing down on his shoulders until Knock Out bade them farewell, and the two mechs turned to leave. He turned blankly for the door and exited, slipping ahead of Megatron. The medical instruments had given him that which has eluded him for so long: closure. 

His Lord drew up beside him in the hallway, and, to Soundwave's astonishment, reached up to gently place his hand on Soundwave's back, just between his shoulders. He looked up. Megatron was not a tender creature, nor a warm one, and this was probably the closest he would ever get to comfort. He saw no sympathy, no pity in that fierce face. He saw merely understanding.

Understanding was enough.

"Come with me tonight," Megatron said simply. Soundwave nodded, lowering his head. He was still humbled and touched by the degree of loyalty Megatron had shown him in the medbay, but it was swimming in a sea of disappointment, of loss. It was going to be a long night.

But he wasn't going to have to endure it alone, and that was what mattered.

* * *

The story could have ended there. Had things been different, Megatron and Soundwave would have simply bonded, and the Decepticons would have marched on, ruthlessly razing the world of its resources. Starscream would have schemed, and drones would have tried to survive their daily deadly struggles. Soundwave and Megatron would slowly find themselves settling into their roles as bondmates. 404 would have valiantly continued to fulfill his role as the official screw-up of the drone army, and just as valiantly continued to recover from his blunders with cocky aplomb. Switchgear would find some new fascinating aspect of Earth to enthuse over. Breakdown and Knock Out would continue to be the one-two punch of destruction and construction that categorized their team so well, and continue to hold the ragged army together by its seams. Airachnid would continue to make herself useful until she sensed it was time to move on, and her treachery would live ripples in its wake which would eventually settle and smooth over.

Life, as it were, would continue as normal for the Decepticons.

Except that the story didn't end there. Events had been set in motion, and Starscream had looked on the evidence of these events, quite unknowingly, on the battlefield where he'd retrieved Blackout, scorched from the struggles that had raged there days before…


	7. Freight Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I want to deeply and sincerely thank everyone who has stuck with me so far! It might not seem like very long to any readers on AO3, but this is the first chapter update since October, sheesh! Seven months between an update IS A LONG TIME, WOW, but I'm back in the groove and chapters should be moving along at a quicker pace! But to anyone still reading this or supporting it, thank you so much. And to anyone new who might be investigating this for the first time--hi there! 
> 
> This chapter contains a mix of canon and headcanon. The artifact described in here is a part of the Aligned canon, and it was made by Solus Prime, but all other details were cooked up by me, so any mistakes there are on my part. 
> 
> Otherwise, let's get rolling! This chapter's a bit on the long side--hopefully that makes up for my absence, at least in part! ;) 
> 
> Squicks in this chapter: None, it's mainly ACTION. The title is a terrible pun though, dohoho.

 

 

 

  **Chapter 6 - Freight Night**

_Four days earlier,_  
_Autobot Base_

 

"Okay, now slide your hand right… here," Miko said, gently guiding Raf's wrist higher up the neck of the guitar. "There! You got it."

Rafael did what he could to hoist the guitar into a convincing pose, encouraged by a string of beeps from Bumblebee. Jack was watching him with the sort of carefully-constructed straight face only made by people who were trying very, very hard not to laugh. "How do I look?" Raf asked.

Miko gave him a big grin and a double thumbs-up. "You look like you're ready to  _rock_."

Bumblebee glanced over his shoulder, flicking one of his doorwings out of the way to look at Ratchet. The medic was standing in front of a bank of screens at the other end of the Autobot's base with his back to the childrens' antics. Evening was drawing on, and Ratchet's attention had been fixed on the unusual discovery he had made around noon: an abandoned Cybertronian vessel coming down in the Earth's atmosphere.

They'd been able to determine that the ship wasn't occupied very shortly after they detected it, and Optimus planned to personally lead Arcee, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead to the site to scour it for any traces of Cybertronian technology... as soon as they received clearance from Agent Fowler's superiors. Optimus had stressed that time was of the essence.

"You don't have to tell  _me_ ," Fowler had replied in his characteristic tone, which conveyed that he was, with great effort, refraining from exploding with frustration whenever he opened his mouth, "I'm all for it, big guy. The last thing I want is for MECH to get their mitts on any of your fancy space-tech, but the boys at the White House won't let you go charging into another country on some extended mission until you fight your way through a mountain of red tape." It turned out that waltzing into another country and taking alien spacecraft from them was something that the US government decreed needed to be done carefully and with preparation.

Go figure.

Bumblebee sighed, turning back to the children. Miko was attempting to educate Raf on the fine art of sliding forward knee-first while ripping out (in her words) an "epic guitar solo." Bumblebee wasn't exactly sure why Ratchet was so interested in this ship, but the moment he saw it he had muttered something about records and reports and had gone diving into the Autobot archives. It kept him quiet enough, and though Bumblebee didn't exactly  _like_  Ratchet's intermittent grubling… well. It just felt  _weird_  around the base without it.

Bulkhead seemed just as uncertain as to what exactly was bothering Ratchet as Bumblebee was. If the yellow scout had been inclined to ask anyone, though, he would have chosen Optimus. Of everyone in the base, Optimus understood their resident medic the best. He was out with Arcee, though, on an evening patrol. Arcee had been none too happy about the wait imposed by their ever-so-gracious hosts, and Bumblebee suspected that Optimus had proposed the patrol as a means of getting her wheels turning and her mind off her restlessness.

His mind was drawn away from his troubles by the sight of Raf making his first sliding solo attempt (only pantomiming the guitar-strumming, though), which was met with immediate approval from Miko. Bumblebee smiled, insofar as he was able to with his largely-inflexible face. It wasn't an easy life they had found here on Earth, but somehow, knowing Rafael made it worth the struggle. If anyone had told Bumblebee back on war-torn Cybertron that he would find peace in an unlikely friendship with a mere child, he would have thought they were crazy.

Now, he couldn't imagine life without little Raf.

"Okay, Jack," Miko said as she helped untangle Raf from the clutches of her instrument. "Your turn."

Jack blinked and took a half-step back. "What--me? No thanks, Miko. I think I'll leave the rocking to the rockers."

"That," the girl explained with exaggerated patience, "is why we need to  _unleash your inner rocker_."

Before Jack could reply, they were both startled by an exclamation from Ratchet. "That's it! It's the same ship!" All eyes, Cybertronian or otherwise, immediately turned to the doctor as, without turning, he immediately set about setting up a commlink. "Ratchet to Optimus. I need you are Arcee to come back to the base immediately. This is a matter of grave importance."

"What's going on?" Raf ventured somewhat timidly.

Ratchet finally turned away from his console. "Something big, Rafael," he replied pensively. "Something _big._ "

* * *

Once Ratchet had everyone assembled, he wasted no time. "There's a chance--and it's an admittedly small chance--that the vessel that just went down in Nicaragua is harboring one of the lost artifacts of the Primes."

At his words, everyone in the room grew still. They were all familiar with these lost artifacts, as most of the Autobots' efforts over the past few weeks had been to keep as many of these out of Decepticon hands as possible. The first thing Optimus asked was, "Do the Decepticons know?"

"I can't be sure. I think they would have tried to intercept if they did."

 _"Which one is it?"_ Bumblebee chirped.

Ratchet glanced to him and gave his head a little shake. "I don't know for certain, Bumblebee, but I have reason to believe it might be the Infinite Combinatoric."

The Autobots, as one, drew in a sharp vent of air; the children looked nonplussed. "So," Jack began, "this is the part where you tell us what it is…?"

Ratchet sighed. "That's a… complicated question. The Infinite Combinatoric was created by Solus Prime, like many of the other artifacts. It is said in the Covenant that she built it to give to Amalgamous Prime. Thus, it is speculated to be a weapon, but a weapon suitable for a shape-shifter such as Amalgamous."

"Wait, like that Decepticon who pretended to be Wheeljack?" Miko piped up.

"In a way," Ratchet conceded, "it is also said that Amalgamous Prime is the origin all of Shifters. Since Amalgamous Prime could and would assume many different forms in and outside of battle, any weapon he wielded could be rendered useless in a moment. Some say that Solus saw this as an irresistible challenge, and created the Infinite Combinatoric as a test of her skills. Others say it was to stop Amalgamous Prime from constantly bothering her for new weaponry. Either way, the Infinite Combinatoric is said to be, while not the most powerful, certainly the most versatile of all of the artifacts listed in the Covenant."

A heavy silence fell over the listeners. It was hard enough for the Autobots to overcome the Decepticons' collective edge in their day-to-day struggles, but allowing something like the Infinite Combinatoric to fall into their hands would turn a struggle into a stonewall. Versatility and determination were all the Autobots had against Megatron's sheer might.

"Just how big are we talking here?" Jack asked, arms crossed. "If this thing can really turn into any weapon, then it's got to be hard to miss, right?."

"The Combinatoric is able to alter its mass as well as its shape." It was Optimus, rather than Ratchet, who spoke up next. "It is heavy, though, regardless of the form it takes." This statement was met with a bit of confusion from the children, and Optimus continued, "I know this because the Infinite Combinatoric is an artifact that was found and lost again in the flight from Cybertron."

"Pirates," Ratchet added, shaking his head in disgust.

"Wait, like, 'yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum' pirates?" Jack queried uncertainly.

"Space pirates," Arcee answered. "They called themselves the Star Seekers, and they hated Autobots _and_ Decepticons." She narrowed her eyes slightly. "It would've been different if we had a destination, or a straight shot to where we needed to go, but we were constantly stopping for supplies or repairs, and that's when they'd catch us. Every now and then we got lucky, though."

"Real lucky," Bulkhead added, "that's when we found the…" He paused, and decided not to try wrestling with the cumbersome syllables of the lost weapon's name. "Artifact."

"We were fleeing through an uncharted region of space, a region they knew well," Optimus said. "They ambushed us incessantly, and we were lucky to escape with our lives each time. One such conflict nearly ended our journey then and there. I was forced to trade the artifact for the life of one of my bravest soldiers."

Jack wondered why they were being so brief with the story. It sounded like one worth telling, and he was almost certain there was more to it than they'd mentioned so far... but he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Bumblebee had averted his gaze to the floor very slightly, his doorwings drooping. Jack was used to the scout's body language enough to recognize shame when he saw it, and he decided to keep his mouth shut. _One of his bravest soldiers..._ "So you had it, then lost it, and now you think it's back again…?"

Optimus pulled himself from his thoughts of the past and look to Ratchet. "What reason do you have to believe that this empty ship might be harboring the artifact in question?"

Ratchet sighed and looked back to his bank of vidscreens. "Not much, I'm afraid. This cargo vessel did, at one time, belong to the Star Seekers. That much I know." He stepped over to his console and pulled up two images. The first one was of the cargo vessel in the middle of an interstellar battle, clearly a single frame of some sort of video log; the outlines of the ship were blurred and the rest of the screen was dominated by brilliant slashes of laser fire. The other showed a still of the cargo vessel framed against the tranquil darkness of space, shortly before it entered Earth's atmosphere. It was definitely the worse for wear, battered and charred, but still recognizable.

A secondary screen compared the ship's identification numbers. They were a match.

"We don't know exactly where they took the Infinite Combinatoric after it was taken, but my guess would be their base. They called it Tortuga. A few weeks after we lost the artifact, the Decepticons launched a coordinated assault on that very place," Ratchet went on.

"The one and only time I was ever happy to hear they won a fight," Bulkhead muttered. "The pirates had been dogging us both, and the Decepticons finally got tired of it."

"That more or less ended our troubles with the pirates. For a long time we were worried that the Combinatoric ended up in Decepticon hands, but we would definitely know by now if they had it. Unfortunately… that's the only lead I have." Ratchet sighed. "It's possible that the cargo vessel was sent as a sort of guided missile, maybe by a pirate to spite the Decepticons, locked on our vessels' trajectory. It could be that a Decepticon straggler sent it after the Nemesis when he himself was unable to follow. Or it could just be a drifting hulk."

"So we have a small chance of success, and a lot to lose if we drag our feet and MECH or the Decepticons gets their hands on this hypothetical weapon before _we_ do," Arcee said wryly, "sounds about usual for us."

"It's a long shot, but if I wanted to send something valuable to my comrades, but was unable to escort it," Ratchet went on, "this would be a viable method of doing so. This cargo vessel doesn't look valuable, and there are no active signals on it. The Decepticons wouldn't consider it a priority, and we _would_."

All eyes turned to Optimus. Their next move hinged on his decision. "Regardless of whether or not this ship is in fact harboring an artifact," he finally said, "we must see to it that we reach this vessel before MECH does. However, in light of these circumstances, I will see to it that the importance of attending to this matter quickly is impressed upon Agent Fowler."

Arcee stepped forward. "We're ready whenever you are, Optimus." None of the Cybertronians gathered there knew whether or not they would, in fact, stumble upon the Infinite Combinatoric, but they had to stake their hopes on something, and this long shot was pretty much all they had for the moment.

The various Earth governments involved were less moved, however.

The second day after the ship's initial crash was a long, grinding succession of frustrated hours as the Autobots, through Agent Fowler, tried to negotiate their way through that mountain of red tape they'd heard so much about. The children were spared from the worst of it (instead enduring a long, grinding succession of school assignments), but by the time they arrived back at the base in the evening, they only had to take one look at Ratchet's face to know that things hadn't gone according to plan.

"I could take us there," the doctor was saying as they stepped away from their escorts. "It would just take a flip of that switch, that switch _there_ \--" He was pointing at the ground bridge controls. "And we'd be in and out."

"At the risk of upsetting those forces whose generosity we rely on," Optimus was saying calmly, "and losing our home base. Ratchet, no artifact is worth that."

"We have no guarantee of _keeping_ our home base if MECH gets their hands on it. Think of the… the _destruction_ those warmongering gear-grinding piston-lick--" he turned angrily from the controls and noticed the children for the first time, and he jerked, startled and a little embarrassed.

Bumblebee let out a low whistle, regarding Ratchet with wide eyes.

"Ratchet," Optimus laid a single hand on the medic's shoulder. "I understand your frustration, and I share it. But this is not our world. Rest assured, if I receive information that our foes are moving on the crash, then I will lead us into battle personally and without delay. But while the wreck lies undisturbed, we must abide by the customs of those who call this world their own."

A bit of the tension in Ratchet's frame eased somewhat, and he didn't pull away from the large, comforting hand against his plating. "You're… you're right. Of _course_ ," he added in a muttering undertone.

Something like a smile flickered across Optimus's faceplates, and a warmth entered his optics. "I know, old friend."

On the third day, they finally received good news from Fowler. The United States, in cooperation with local forces, was going to arrange a blackout of sorts in the (admittedly already very barren) plains in which the craft had landed. They would be guarded and undisturbed for as long as they needed to clean up the wreck. The catch was that they wouldn't have this set up for another two days.

Everyone was unhappy and restless with the news, to say the least. There were a lot of patrols that afternoon and a lot of frustration that was taken out on the roads surrounding Jasper, Nevada, as well as cities beyond…

…until around three in the afternoon.

When Arcee received the comm (which was a simple, emergency return-to-base signal), she was stuck in a commuter tunnel that had been carved straight through a local rock formation. There was no way to open a ground bridge without having a street packed with eye witnesses, and keeping low profile was a priority. Arcee immediately pulled out of her place and began weaving through the gridlocked cars. "Ratchet, what's going on?"

"MECH. They've found the crash. I've already sent Bumblebee and Bulkhead in. What's your current coordinates?"

"Not good," was her clipped response. "Scrap, give me a second." She gunned her engine and continued to swerve through the crawling vehicles when she spotted a turn ahead. Veering to the side, she slipped neatly between a truck and a sedan and arced up onto the tunnel wall itself, riding the smooth curve over several cars; she skimmed just above them, catching sight of the astonished drivers' faces peering at her through the windows.

So much for low-profile.

She curved back onto the pavement and rocketed out of the tunnel, veering immediately down a side-street, moving as fast as she could to leave the traffic and any passers-by behind. "Okay, I'm clear!" She transmitted her coordinates, and an instant later she saw the swirling green vortex of the land bridge open before her. She dove straight through it…

…and into the choking wet heat of Nicaragua.

She assessed the battlefield before her in an instant; MECH forces had swamped the crash site, and were using the bulk of the wreck itself as cover. Bumblebee was currently running and gunning, retreating from two oncoming vehicles, both of which sported gunners with the young scout in their sights. _"You’re late!"_ He beeped to her as she sped past.

Arcee was still moving at the velocity with which she'd entered the ground bridge, and the drivers had no time to react to her charge. She drove straight for the cars, transforming as she came between them, sliding with her knee against the ground and digging a long furrow in the earth. She took a single, well-aimed shot at the tires of the vehicle on her right, which spun out of control, fishtailing into its partner just as Arcee cleared the area. The collision resulted in an impressive explosion of dirt and roiling fire, and Arcee stood, the heat washing over her and sending ghostly orange reflections dancing over her armor. She narrowed her eyes, blasters at the ready, and sought her next target.

Bumblebee cycled his optics slowly at the carnage. _" **Fashionably** late,"_ he corrected.

* * *

 

Bulkhead, Bumblebee, and Arcee had no choice but to get aggressive and _stay_ aggressive; they couldn't get near enough to the wreck without using artillery heavy enough to risk destroying it or whatever lay inside, and the covering fire of the MECH agents prevented them from getting around their enemies' defenses.

Bulkhead was sporting a nasty gash across his chest. He had been first on the scene, and had smashed his way through the enemy forces. His attack had been brief, but he'd still managed to come free with something: a single cargo pod lay behind an outcrop of rock. "There's a bunch of 'em in the cargo hold, but they've already got their goons in there loading them up," he said to Arcee as she ducked back into cover. Bumblebee was on the battlefield once more.

Arcee looked to it. It was about half her size, and not much to look at.

"It's not very heavy," Bulkhead said with a despairing shake of his head. "But I figure it's something."

Conversation was understandably difficult to carry out under the circumstances, so the rest of Bulkhead's tale would have to wait. They would have to try and make another run for the cargo hold as soon as they could. "We just can't punch through their defensive line," Arcee barked. "Not unless all three of us--"

Her voice was interrupted by the roar of an engine, which started faint but grew louder. All eyes turned to the sight of a newly-opened ground bridge and the immense truck thundering through it. Optimus Prime had joined the fray at last, and the Autobots wordlessly switched to alt mode and rallied to him, following in their leader's wake. Bumblebee and Arcee opened with a barrage of laser fire while Optimus gathered speed, not shifting until he was right on the mech forces, where he came down heavily and began laying into their defenses with his axe. Bulkhead followed shortly after, pummeling right and left with his wrecking ball.

Arcee was by far the quickest and most agile, and Bumblebee knew that; he flickered his lights at her before he shifted, covering her with every last shred of firepower under his command while she darted into the interior of the cargo hold.

It was a mess. Panels had been ripped from the walls, trailing coils of cable everywhere. Cargo crates and pods were strewn about, most of them gaping open and empty. The structure of the hold itself was decaying, having been bettered by solar winds and scorched by its fiery entry into earth's atmosphere. There were a few guards here, but the main occupants of the room were a team of scientists investigating one of the pods. They had a variety of tools at their command, a few of which had been applied to the surface of the capsule. They looked up just in time to meet Arcee's angry charge. The guards fired a few shots, but they were not quick enough to stop Arcee from leaping forward and seizing the pod. She began to leap away--but staggered under the weight.

A thrill flickered through her spark. It wasn't the heaviest thing she'd ever hoisted, but it was a _lot_ heavier than any cargo cylinder should be.

The guards, seeing her retreat hampered, grew courageous and hefted their weapons again, but a well-timed shot from Arcee sent a rusted ceiling beam crashing down between her attackers and herself, giving her more than enough time to escape.

Bumblebee was waiting for her when she did. He had taken a hit, a nasty sparking wound to the side, but was too pumped up on cyber adrenaline to feel it. "Alt mode, now!" Arcee called. "Optimus, I have the package!"

Bumblebee immediately shifted, and Arcee swung herself up onto his roof. The pod was too large to fit into any of their alt-modes, and she didn't have time to pass it to anyone else. She crouched over the cylinder, holding onto Bumblebee's roof with one hand and firing behind her with the other. Bumblebee immediately surged forward, leaving the scattered MECH forces and the ruined cargo hauler behind, tearing over the open battlefield. Optimus and Bulkhead soon followed. "We need a bridge, Ratchet!" Bulkhead called.

In the next instant a ground bridge spiraled to life. Bulkhead paused only long enough to scoop up their secondary treasure, and as one, the Autobot forces retreated from the battlefield.

* * *

 

The children had all been somewhat bewildered as to what had happened to their rides home, but upon seeing the state of their friends--charred, dented, and in some cases, genuinely _hurt_ \--they immediately went to their respective guardians' side. Bumblebee's injury, while nasty-looking and painful, was largely superficial. Bulkhead was by far more wounded, sporting a fresh, tender-looking series of weldmarks across almost the entirety of his front. Ratchet had refused to look at either of the pods until his patients were seen to.

It wasn't long before everyone was gathered in the main room, all of them standing around the prize of the day's battle. Ratchet had decrypted the lock on the lightweight pod easily, and inside had been a few field repair kits as well as some simple tools. It was a paltry offering, but Ratchet was quite enthusiastic about it. The Autobots were desperate for any supplies they could get, and the presence of these few useful little trinkets would solve many of the myriad tiny problems plaguing the base.

The heavier pod, the real prize, was proving to be a bit of a problem. "This one was locked very, very carefully. Whatever's in here is _definitely_ precious cargo." There was a hum of excitement in the room. "It requires a special key to open--it could be a series of words, a specific chemical substance… anything."

"Why not just blast it open?" Bulkhead volunteered.

"And risk destroying what’s inside? Absolutely not! There's a chance that this might _not_ be the Infinite Combinatoric." He didn't sound thoroughly convinced that it wasn't. If even cautious, cynical Ratchet thought it was likely they had struck lucky after all, who was to say they didn't? "I can crack it, but it will take time."

Another thing that was clear by the tone of his voice was that he wasn't going to waste any time on hesitation. Ratchet remained hunched over the pod until long after the children had finally gone home, pausing only to check Bulkhead and Bumblebee's welds before they left to recharge. In the wee hours of the morning, shortly before dawn, Optimus came to check on him.

"Still no luck?"

"Not yet," the doctor replied. "I'm close, though."

Optimus gave that almost-smile again and shook his head slightly. It was genuinely satisfying to see Ratchet so enthusiastic about something. He stood there with the doctor in companionable silence for a few long moments before, quite unexpectedly, their communication array lit up across the room.

"Prime!" It was Fowler. "We've got a situation."

"Agent Fowler," the Autobot leader began in grave tones, "if this is about today's excursion to Nicaragua--"

"We can talk about that later. Looks like your little scuffle tipped your hand to MECH, and they decided to make good on your divided attention. We need your bots in Kentucky, and we need them _now_. They're going after Fort Campbell, and they just shredded our defenses like they weren't even there."

Ratchet and Optimus exchanged anxious glances.

Within moments they had the Autobots mobilized. Bumblebee was first out, followed shortly by Arcee, and then Optimus. "One of us will need to stay behind to operate the ground bridge," Ratchet explained, "Bulkhead, you're the worst damaged, and we might need a medic on the field. You stay, and I'll go."

Bulkhead didn't look too happy about being left behind, sighing showily through his vents. "Okay, but… just be careful, all right?" He didn't say it out loud, but the question was hanging ominously in everyone's mind. MECH had just attacked a US military base, and had done so with frightening ease. What kind of heat were they packing? Hopefully it wasn't the "lost Cybertronian artifact" kind. Bulkhead glanced to the side and did a double-take. "Didn't crack open the pod?" The electronic display on the front of the capsule was still a bright red: locked.

"No. Take that to storage while you're here. We might need that operating table when I get back," Ratchet called, transforming and following the others through the ground bridge. With another sigh, Bulkhead deactivated it, staring at the blank wall where the portal had been moments before.

"Good luck," he said to the empty air.

Then he regarded the pod. It was heavy when he lifted it, but not something that he couldn't handle. He lugged it over one shoulder to their storage room, setting it down beside their pitifully small pile of stockpiled energon, laying it on its side. The supply room was only about a third full, with the majority of its supplies having been added just that day. There were empty cargo crates stacked to one side, and a few free-standing shelving stands that had been pushed against the wall, as well as a generator humming near the end of the room.

He looked back down to the pod again. It had better be the Infinite Combinatoric, if only to make up for how sad and bare the rest of the room looked. Bulkhead turned to leave, letting the door hiss behind him and lingering in the hallway. As he did, he missed the sight of the electronic display flickering once, twice, briefly displaying a digital representation of an energon cube, before glowing a brilliant green.

He had made it about two steps through the hall when he heard the muffled clank behind him. Bulkhead froze. He was alone in the Autobot base, and he had just heard the very definite sound of something metallic hitting the floor. The last time he had heard mysterious noises, it had turned out to be Scraplets. The green mech was big, and fearsome, and definitely brave in the face of certain danger, but it didn't take much to creep him out. It took him a few moments to work up the courage to turn around and walk slowly, carefully back to the storage room. He hesitantly keyed the door to open and peeked inside.

Absolutely nothing was amiss. The pod was leaning quietly against the wall, the crates were undisturbed, and there wasn't a Scraplet in sight. Huh. Maybe he'd taken one too many knocks on the head. He turned and began to leave once more, freezing in the doorway.

 _The pod hadn't been leaning against the wall when he left._ He had placed it right next to the energon. 

There was another faint scuffling sound behind him, and Bulkhead immediately spun around, wrecking ball at the ready. He inched carefully forward, optics darting back and forth. The pod was even further askew, and the pile of energon was disturbed as well. Very carefully, he shuffled sideways until he could prod at the cylinder with his foot.

It rocked gently. It was empty.

There was another soft sound, the gentle hissing scrape of metal on metal, and Bulkhead narrowed his optics. It had come from near the generator. If that capsule  _had_ been stuffed full of Scraplets as some kind of sick joke, then the last thing he wanted them to be chewing on was the generator. …well, okay, _second_ to last. He moved as slowly and soundlessly as he could (which was not very) and hefted his wrecking ball. Okay. It was now or never.

Abruptly he leaned over the generator, wrecking ball raised, and was greeted with a sight he most certainly did not expect. The first thing he noticed were the pair of narrowed red optics trained directly up at him from near the floor. The second thing he noticed was the hunched shape of a decidedly small mech, a mech whose EM fit was flickering fitfully, obviously fresh from statis. 

"Hands off, Autodork!"

The third thing he noticed was the piledriver coming straight for his face.


	8. Contingencies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been patient and stuck with me! And gosh, thanks everyone for all of your nice comments, it really means a lot to me to know you're enjoying this so much! ;u; 
> 
> I'm really looking forward to writing the next few chapters, so hopefully I'll be able to get them out at a quicker pace. Either way, I hope you enjoy this installment! It's a lot of talking, I'm afraid, but there's a little action in the beginning to make up for it. ;) 
> 
> Squicks in this chapter: None!

 

**Chapter 7 - Contingencies**

Bulkhead reeled back as a one-two punch of pure pile-driven fury connected with his jaw. It was certainly painful, and it left his head ringing, but even as he stepped back, he was curiously aware of the fact that the blow wasn't as devastating as he thought it would be. Seeing Rumble go directly for his face like that had momentarily filled him with dread, but after he had staggered back out of range and given his head a shake he felt... well. Distinctly _not_ like an Autobot with a pancake for a face, which was not what he expected.

Rumble wasted no time. The little mech's pile-drivers shifted back into arms, which he used to seize the energon cube he had smuggled with him to his hiding place. He vaulted over the generator, scurrying for the exit. “Oh no you don't!” In another instant Bulkhead had brought his wrecking ball down, narrowly missing the wayward symbiont, who lost his footing and went sprawling. The cube was sent spinning across the floor. Baring his teeth, Rumble pulled himself back up to his feet—but staggered to the side, his optics fritzing. He recovered quickly, arms weaponizing once more, but Bulkhead had seen the moment of frailty.

There was a lot of things to consider about the fact that Rumble was conscious and irritable _inside the Autobot base._ Bulkhead knew he should definitely contact Optimus immediately, as well as do something to render Rumble insensate or possibly take him out of the base. If he was able to contact his host, things would go downhill fast. That stumble had spoken volumes, though: The little Decepticon was _weak_. He must have been in stasis for quite some time, and the first thing on his mind had been energon. It was quite obvious that Rumble was low on fuel.

Bulkhead swung again, his mind spinning with the implications of this unexpected development. Rumble ducked neatly under the somewhat-clumsy arc of the larger mech's devastating weapon and aimed a strike at Bulkhead's nearest leg. Had he been at full strength, it would have been a worrying and possibly crippling attack, but instead it just pinged off the thick armor. Rumble made an unintelligible sound of frustration that rose to a yell.

“Where's Frenzy!?” He barked as he scurried out of range once more, narrowed optics darting about, obviously seeking an exit.

“He's _your_ twin,” Bulkhead replied, charging and hefting his wrecking ball. “Not mine!”

Rumble hopped backward and then dodged to the side, as quick and nimble as a glitchmouse. Bulkhead's great swinging arc could not be stopped, and he crashed into the wall, which shook alarmingly. Okay, it was obvious a bit of finesse was required here, or else he was going to bring the base down on both of their heads. As if he didn't have enough things to worry about right at that moment! This whole situation was messy and he was unsure how to best resolve it. If he contacted Optimus now, Rumble would know Bulkhead was alone, which could be bad _if_ he could call his host. Aside from that, Optimus and the team were currently engaged at Fort Campbell, and he knew that they wouldn't leave humans to perish. He didn't _want_ them to leave humans to perish.

Still, they needed to know what was going on with the intruder situation, but not _necessarily_ while in the middle of combat with MECH. Rumble took advantage of Bulkhead's distracted state (again! Scrap, he needed to focus) and made another break for the door. Bulkhead knew he wouldn't be able to reach him in time—but the energon cube that Rumble had dropped earlier was within arm's reach of the Autobot. Bulkhead scooped it up. He threw it in one fluid motion, and the cube soared in a graceful arc that would have made any Wrecker proud.

It _clonked_ off the back of Rumble's helm, and the Decepticon keeled over, his momentum sending him skidding across the floor. Bulkhead snorted through his vents and lumbered over. “Who said that Lobbing's a waste of time?” Rumble groaned and rolled over, just in time to be pinned to the floor by Bulkhead's foot. To his credit, the tiny mech stared up at his captor without an ounce of fear. “Why are you asking _me_ where your twin is?”

Rumble just stared up at him, clenching his jaw.

Bulkhead leaned on his foot ever so slightly; the dark blue plating made a creaking noise and Rumble made a sharp hissing noise of discomfort. “Don't you twins have a bond or something?”

“I can't _feel_ him, bolts-for-brains,” Rumble finally replied tightly. “Either he's in stasis, or he ain't close enough.”

“What about your boss?” Bulkhead wasn't expecting an immediate response from this, and he didn't get one. Still, he'd learned that distance made a difference, which was definitely good to know. Rumble's eyes just narrowed further, so he leaned even more. His prisoner's grimace of belligerence began to take on the look of a mech in pain, but he stubbornly refused to speak. Bulkhead didn't like Rumble, not one bit. He might have been small, but at full strength, he was dangerous, and he and his unstable twin had killed their share of Autobots.

No, Bulkhead didn't feel pity for this fellow, but he didn't think Optimus would let him squash their newest prisoner to death, so he had to try a different tactic. “Trick question. Soundwave was offlined vorns ago.” Rumble's eyes widened in shock and for a moment a look of raw loss crossed his face. It was an expression that Bulkhead had never seen on a Decepticon before. He willed himself not to react. “Looks like you're on your own.”

Rumble squirmed, anger spiking through his EM field. Whether it was at the Autobots for “killing” his carrier or at himself for baring his moment of vulnerability to his captor was unclear. The little mech's optics fritzed again and he went limp, obviously too low on energy to struggle any longer. “Then what are you waiting on?” He snarled. “You gonna tell me where Frenzy is or you gonna stomp me?”

Bulkhead studied him for a moment, his eyes narrowed. “Neither. First of all, I don't know where Frenzy is. He never made it to Earth.” He wasn't sure whether or not letting slip the name of the planet was a good idea, but only really thought of it after he had said it. Whoops. Clearly interrogation was not his strong suit.

“He was on the same ship as me!” Rumble snapped back.

Bulkhead froze. Well, Pitfire, that just made this whole situation even more complicated. “Scrap. You're sure?” Rumble's furious glare was all the answer Bulkhead needed. “That means...” That meant that he needed to talk to Optimus, and pronto, because if the Autobots didn't have Frenzy, then MECH very well _might_. “Okay, you're going to take a little nap, Rumble. Time for the big bots to talk.”

He raised his wrecking ball. A nice sturdy tap on the helm out to knock him out. “Oh, and by the way,” he said, “I lied about Soundwave. He's fine.” Rumble had just enough time to look astonished before the wrecking ball came down and everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

 

On the morning of the fourth day since the crash, while Starscream was leading the rescue of Blackout in Nicaragua, the Autobots were finally leaving the site of the battle for Fort Campbell. The damage to the complex itself had been extensively focused on the north side, but there'd been a merciful lack of casualties. MECH's audacity had not, in fact, been spurred by their acquisition of the Infinite Combinatoric, but rather through a mole planted on the inside. They had simply timed their operation in conjunction with their Central American salvage operation to try and catch their foes unaware.

It had been a mixed victory for the Autobots. Though they'd managed to limit further damage, spare human lives, and drive MECH away from the military installation, they had not arrived in time to prevent their foes from coming away with quite a bit of intel, which had been the goal of the strike, specifically intel relation to the Special Operations Aviation Regiment stationed there. It was going to be a heck of an inconvenience for the US military now that an enemy force had intimate knowledge of present and future operations, but it was a problem made by humans, for humans, and the Autobots didn't feel too guilty walking away from it.

Or driving, as it were; Arcee and Bumblebee had already shifted, the rising sun glinting off their frames as Ratchet and Optimus walked carefully away from (and sometimes over) the carnage and onto the tarmac. Optimus couldn't help but think over how terrified they'd all been in that one moment when they had thought that dangerous Cybertronian technology had finally found its way into the hands of MECH. There was something to be learned from this excursion, but he wasn't sure what yet.

Perhaps their hopes had been in vain, and the Infinite Combinatoric had not found its way to Earth. Perhaps their belief that it was here had prompted their quick response—but was that a bad thing? Did the knowledge that MECH could and would use Cybertronian tech against humankind as well as Cybertronians mean that a whole new set of rules would have to be put into play to prevent a catastrophe that might cost them their new home? There was much to think about...

...but no time to do the thinking. Ratchet had just shifted into alt-mode when he saw Optimus freeze, head tilting to the side. “Optimus? What's wrong?”

The Autobot leader tapped the side of his head, indicating that he was receiving a comm signal. He hesitated a moment longer before he said, “We'll be there shortly,” and shifted, at last, into vehicle mode. “Have a groundbridge ready.”

“Optimus?” Ratchet prompted again.

“We have an... uninvited guest at the base,” he responded quietly. To the group at large he said, “Autobots, roll out!”

 

* * *

 

The Autobots returned home by the light of the rising sun, a heroic compliment of battered warriors leaving the site of a triumphant battle... but the sight that greeted them when they stepped off the groundbridge instantly destroyed whatever gravitas the event would have otherwise garnered.

Bulkhead was standing in the center of the main room, his jaw set and his expression grim, the unconscious form of Rumble grasped in one massive hand, both of them illuminated by the eerie green light of the groundbridge. “So,” he said into the stunned silence. “I'll give you three guesses what was in that other pod.”

With a soft, whispering sound, the groundbridge closed behind them.

As soon as the Autobots had recovered from the worst of their shock, the first thing Optimus ordered was for Bumblebee to contact Raf and inform him that the children would not be taken back to base today, and for him to let Jack and Miko know. No specifics were allowed as to what was going on, only that the children would need to steer clear and make their own way home. If the arrival of Decepticon reinforcements _was_ a real threat, the Autobots did not want to be seen in the heart of Jasper with their human charges, and if things went south somehow, he didn't want the children finding their own way here to the base with a Con inside, temporarily incapacitated or not.

The next thing he ordered was for Ratchet to secure Rumble, which he didn't have to say twice; the little mech was bound on a medical table with a series of thin, glowing restraints. His optics were dim, and his frame was perhaps cooler than a normal mech's might be, but he was still clearly functioning. “He must have put himself in stasis lock,” Ratchet said as he finished securing the symbiont, “which is why we didn't pick up any life signs when the ship came in. How did the pod open, though?”

“I wasn't there when it popped open,” Bulkhead replied, “but the first thing he did was try and snag some energon, so maybe _that_ did it.”

An examination of the pod confirmed the Wrecker's hunch. Rumble had keyed the pod only to open in the presence of energon, which was rather clever, Ratchet had to admit. “Yeah, well,” Bulkhead went on as they made their way out of the storage room, “he said that Frenzy'd been with him, so I'm guessing he's the one with the bright idea.” Neither of the terror twins could be considered intelligent, but among the two, Frenzy was the sharpest... when he wasn't giving in to the battle-madness that was his namesake. “And we need to talk about Frenzy.”

Bumblebee and Arcee had been dispatched to run a quick, close patrol, with special instructions to look for smaller-than-average threats. They had no reason to believe that Rumble had been able to call his carrier or fellow symbionts down on them, but Optimus didn't want to take any chances. Bulkhead, Ratchet, and the Autobot leader all convened in the main room. Optimus had been about to make a report to Agent Fowler, but in the chaos of the morning, he hadn't had time, and it seemed as if it would have to wait a bit longer.

The news that MECH might have Frenzy was truly troubling. Optimus remained silent for a few long moments after Bulkhead delivered the news, staring into middle space and turning his options over in his mind. “That MECH cannot be allowed to keep Frenzy if they have him is non-negotiable. If he is in the same state as Rumble, it is likely he will be subdued and taken apart. If this morning has taught us anything, it is that we cannot afford to take MECH lightly, and we cannot afford to take the advantage Cybertronian technology will give them lightly, either.”

He looked to Rumble's recumbent form. “Furthermore, if Frenzy _were_ able to somehow get free and make his way to an area populated by civilians... there is no telling what damage he could do before he would be stopped.”

A pause ensued, stretching as each mech present let the consequences of their situation settle into their minds. Ratchet finally spoke, softly, “I agree, Optimus. The only question is, how do we do it?”

“That,” Optimus replied with a sigh. “I am... unsure of.”

By this point it was around midday. Bumblebee and Arcee returned. All was clear for now, but everyone was on edge. Anxious anticipation filled the rest of the afternoon. Optimus made his report to Fowler, but the human was apparently embroiled in another crisis of his own, and he was forced to leave a brief and vague text-based missive. There was a brief crisis over the exact nature of the mysterious human invention “e-mail,” as many of its machinations were a complete mystery to the Autobots. Still, they managed, and the campaign served to lighten the heavy mood somewhat.

Rumble had not stirred all day.

In the evening Raf had gathered Jack and Miko around a laptop to check in with their Autobot buddies. They knew the basics of what was going on, but Bumblebee had not had time to convey the details. Ratchet had forbidden anyone to mention Rumble by name or let him come into view of their vid-screen's cameras. The doctor was was intensely leery about saying anything specific over the internet. After all, for the moment it would be best if the Decepticons did not know who they had squirreled away in their base, and the mech who would react the strongest to the news _was the Communications Chief._

“We'll explain the details when we can speak to you in person,” Arcee said, arms crossed, staring sternly at the screen before her. Bee was waving at Raf from behind her with a marked lack of the grim dignity the femme seemed to command. He was genuinely eager to see his little friend, but also serving the purpose of blocking off the vidscreen's view of the rest of the room. “Until then, you're going to have to take our word for it.”

“Okay,” was Raf's reply—concerned, a hint doubtful, but obedient. Miko was behind him, adjusting her angle and peering intently, obviously trying to see what was going on behind Arcee. The only part of Jack visible was his sleeve, and occasionally his shoulder. He was watching the laptop screen from an angle, it seemed. “Be careful!”

The irony of being admonished by a twelve (and a quarter, Raf would have been quick to remind her) year old child did not escape Arcee. She allowed for a slight smile. “We will, Raf.” She deactivated the feed and turned away from the dark screen. Beside her, Bumblebee gave a soft, digital sigh as he stared at the space where little Raf's face had been, moments before. Ratchet was taking some readings on their prisoner, and Optimus was standing nearby. Bulkhead had lingered curiously around until Ratchet had ordered him to get some recharge, as he was still recovering, and if their current situation went sour, they'd need him as healthy as possible.

“He shows no signs of waking up?” Optimus was asking.

Ratchet shook his head. “Rumble was very low on energy when he came to. He didn't travel in a proper stasis pod—it was meant for cargo, and it didn't help regulate any of his functions. The fight with Bulkhead just...”

“Wiped him out,” Arcee supplied helpfully.

Ratchet nodded. “Without refueling, he'll probably slip back into stasis lock.”

Optimus looked down at Rumble. Against the impressive bulk of the Autobot commander, Rumble looked very small, and perhaps pitiable in his ragged state, restrained and unconscious. Every Autobot there knew better, that to underestimate Rumble, but even so, Optimus had to admit that submitting one's chances to the never-ending void of space in a jury-rigged “stasis” pod just for the slim chance of being reunited with one's carrier was undeniably brave.

“Rumble is dangerous,” he finally said. All eyes were on Optimus. “That is certain. However, I believe our only hope of locating Frenzy, if he is alive and functioning, is through him. For this, we need Rumble conscious. The alternative would be to let him remain this way, possibly at the cost of human lives, and undoubtedly at the cost of securing MECH a further advantage. Regardless of our history with him, I do not feel it is right to willfully submit Frenzy to the mercy of MECH.”

The gathered Autobots were silent. Optimus raised his head from where he had been contemplating Rumble to look up at each of them in turn. Somewhat to his surprise, nobody objected. “I understand this is not... typical.”

“ _'Typical' is putting it lightly,”_ Bumblebee chimed in.

“Optimus,” Ratchet spoke up, his voice bearing a trace of reluctance. “I know that it's necessary for now to do this, but what's going to happen if we secure Frenzy?”

There was a heavy pause.

“I am not sure,” Optimus said finally.

“Taking them both prisoner would be difficult,” Ratchet prompted.

“Indeed,” the Autobot leader agreed. “They are not drones. Both of them working in tandem against us might prove to be more than our limited numbers can handle. Furthermore, I anticipate their priority will not be destruction, but escape, which may be difficult to prevent. You have seen the lengths they went through to follow their carrier.”

So far everyone had avoided saying the word, but delivered as it was, in grave tones from Optimus's mouth, prompted another heavy silence to settle over the gathered warriors. Not a single individual there liked Decepticons, but even Arcee, whose enmity ran perhaps deeper than her comrades', couldn't deny that the prospect of separating a carrier from its symbiont, by force, made them... uncomfortable. It felt inherently _wrong_ in a way they couldn't explain, grated against some instinct ingrained deep into every spark present, an instinct that not even millions of years of war had been able to touch.

“So,” Arcee spoke her voice terse and slicing through the uncomfortable silence like a blade, “what if we _do_ manage to capture both of them?”

Optimus sighed heavily. “Once again... I am uncertain.” He went back to looking at Rumble. “We have stasis pods— _proper_ ones--where we could keep them until we decide. It is possible that we might be able to use them as a bargaining chip.”

“Do you think the Decepticons could offer us anything as valuable as two more competent fighters to their ranks? Or that they would even honor any type of agreement?” Ratchet asked.

“We don't have to bargain with all of them,” Arcee pointed out. “Only Soundwave.”

It felt uncomfortably like taking hostages, and it chafed at Optimus Prime's sense of honor, but he was also faced with the stark and unforgiving realities of keeping his troops alive. It wasn't as if he were threatening to harm the twins, and he didn't plan on doing so, but he couldn't quell that note of discord in his spark...“There is another possibility,” he finally said. Slowly he looked back to to the gathered Autobots. “If Rumble is exposed while we're trying to liberate Frenzy, and Soundwave sees...”

“He'll come for us.” Arcee finished.

“ _Well, I guess that might be a good time to negotiate.”_ Bumblebee shrugged.

“I don't think he'll be in a negotiating mood, Bumblebee,” Ratchet replied, shaking his head. “And if he finds us, and wants his symbiont back, I'm not sure we'd be able to stop him.” He looked to Optimus, a silent request for verification.

Optimus shook his head. “I wouldn't wager an army against a carrier fighting for his symbiont.” For a few moments he was silent, averting his gaze to a nearby wall, his expression drawn. “There are many possibilities laid out before us. We know what it is we have to do. How we are to go about this...” The low rumble of his voice trailed off. “Remains to be seen. All of this boils down to one inevitability: we will need to gauge Rumble's willingness to cooperate before we plan any farther. For that, he will need to be fueled. Ratchet, is there any harm in waiting until the morning to give Rumble energon?”

“There isn't,” the doctor replied, “but he will take several hours to process it. Better to give it to him now, mixed with a sedative.” He shrugged. “He'll sleep through the night.”

“As should we all,” Optimus said with a nod, before looking to the Autobots gathered around. “If any of you have any objections to this plan, please share them with me now. I will not force anyone to participate in this venture unwillingly.”

Arcee shook her head. “I'm not thrilled about rescuing any Decepticons damsels in distress, but I'm in.” Her tone was even, her stance tense, but Optimus knew he could rely on her.

Bumblebee chirped his assent and gave him a thumbs-up. _“We should probably run this by Bulkhead, though.”_

“I will speak with him in the morning, before we...” Optimus looked to Rumble. “Engage the prisoner.”

Bumblebee and Arcee were dismissed shortly after they set up a watch schedule. Ratchet didn't waste any time mixing up Rumble's energon. “Optimus,” he said, glancing briefly up from his work. “There's one more thing. Obviously we didn't find... what we expected to find on that ship. But Rumble and Frenzy clearly escaped from Tortuga, or what was left of it.” He paused to meet Optimus's eye. “That ship might not have brought the Infinite Combinatoric with it, but if they know anything...”

Optimus nodded slowly. “He will be questioned.”

Ratchet moved to clamp a siphon onto Rumble's auxiliary fuel intake (seeing as he was unconscious, taking fuel the old-fashioned way wasn't going to work), working silently until he heard the whir of the fuel being pumped into the smaller mech's system. The doctor straightened, allowing himself to sigh thinly. “I don't know. Maybe I'm fixated, or just letting my disappointment get the better of me.” He looked to Rumble. He had expected to perhaps quit the battlefield that day with a new advantage. Instead, he had a fresh liability. He felt irritated with himself for letting his hope get away with him.

“There is no guarantee that Rumble knows anything, or if he would even be willing to share such information if he did. Either way, we will try. Though I caution you not to--”

“--get my hopes up. I know, Optimus.”

The Autobot leader allowed for a small smile, which Ratchet, somewhat to his own surprise, returned. They didn't say anything, because there was nothing to say; both mechs had known each other long enough to be able to share silence with one another. The sun had long since set, and the deserts of Jasper were chilly and still. Far, far away, in the heavy damp dark of the Amazonian night, the Lord of their sworn enemy was speaking quietly to his Intended, and a similar moment of understanding was passing between them.

This peculiar parallel was lost on Optimus, though, who said simply, “Get some rest, old friend. You've been up since last night. I'll take the first watch.” He reached up to gently clasp Ratchet's shoulder.

The older mech nodded with a sigh. He'd been going for almost twenty-four hours. He was nervous about the future, uncertain as to what new anxieties tomorrow would bring, but he felt those things under a thin veneer of pure weariness. “Yes,” he said simply. “Wake me when it's my watch.”

Optimus nodded, but said nothing. He had that look on his face that Ratchet had come to associate with Optimus privately making a decision about someone else's well-being, and he realized as he turned that he was probably not going to be awoken until the night had passed. For once, he was willing to let his teammates bear the burden without him. He was too tired to argue. Besides, he had a feeling that tomorrow was going to be a _long_ day.

He was right.  


	9. Convergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a new chapter! Before I begin, I need to stop to talk a bit about characterization in the fic. It's been on my mind for a little while now.
> 
> When I started this fic, Season 2 had barely begun. Season 1 was, in my personal opinion, the best-written season of Transformers Prime. As Season 2 got into swing, we saw a dramatic shift in characterization for some of the villains, namely Megatron and Starscream. Megatron was deadly, intelligent, and calculated in Season 1. As the show progressed he became more and more... erratic and unstable (SPACE MADNESS). Starscream went from a scheming and actually somewhat competent stand-in leader to comedic relief. 
> 
> I don't bring this up to bash Prime, I bring it up because I've been thinking about my writing and characterization in this fic. When I first started writing it, I had a specific mindset for Megatron and Starscream. I've been writing them the way they were presented in Season 1. I've been wondering if I should start to slip in elements of character shift, or whether to stick with what I've got. To suddenly change the way they act this far into the story would be jarring, but I also sort of dislike changing the way characters act just because I don't necessarily like the direction they've gone in within the canon. 
> 
> That said, this fic is already far into AU territory, and I don't think I'm being too presumptuous to say anyone who's enjoyed reading this fic so far has had a super big problem with the way I've been writing Megatron and Starscream, or at least not enough of one to tell me so. 
> 
> I leave this note as a sort of way of saying, “I know the way I'm writing these two is very different from the way they ended up acting by the show's conclusion.” I don't want anyone to think that I'm unaware of that, or that I'm twisting characterization to make it fit my fic! That's something I always try to keep myself from doing. Even so, I'm sticking with what I've got. Gosh, this was a long, rambling Author's Note! I just feel sort of bad no -acknowledging notable dissonances between my fanwork and the canon (aside from... all the other very huge differences already present in the fic, pfft). 
> 
> Anyway whoah this was a long ramble. I'm not trying to be uppity about anyone's writing or anything, just stating where my direction in characterization splits with the show's. Perhaps appropriately, this chapter is ALSO wordier than usual. I did say it was going to be a long day. 
> 
> Squicks in this chapter: None I can think of!

 

 

 

 

**Chapter 8 - Convergence**

**Morning**

 

When Soundwave awoke, he was not in his chambers.

He had come to accept the fact that he might one day be spending his nights in Lord Megatron's quarters, but this wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind. After Megatron had instructed him to come along with him to his room, he had stood by and simply... _stayed_. He had not said much, and he hadn't made many moves to comfort his Intended, but Soundwave knew his restraint was not the result of indifference. He didn't think Megatron knew _how_ to comfort.

The Decepticons' leader had seemed to recognize that being there was the important part, and in that regard he'd been spot-on. Soundwave had stood in his Lord's room, staring resolutely at the wall, grappling with the emotions that wanted to bubble up to the surface, emotions that he was used to quelling and mastering and then he'd just hung his head and _grieved._

Soundwave could still remember what the initial loss had felt like, that horrible tug at his spark when he had stopped feeling Rumble and Frenzy, the blank greyness that had descended on him like a wave in the weeks afterward. He'd persevered, of course. He'd had no choice, and as deeply as the loss of Rumble and Frenzy had hurt him, his devotion to the Decepticon cause burned fiercer.

Soundwave was not easily moved by emotion, but he was still a carrier, and his host-bond defined in part who he was. It was a testament to his loyalty that he'd stayed so silently strong in those days, but he could feel all of the anger and sorrow he'd repressed coming back to him, and as much as he hated feeling it, feeling _anything_ , he had to face it once and for all.

Megatron had then done something that surprised Soundwave. He'd put his massive, clawed hand on the other's shoulder-plating, resting his palm with startling gentleness against the broad flat sweep of the shoulder-guard. Soundwave's EM field had shivered with gratitude and mournfulness, a combination of emotions strange to him. Neither of them said anything for a long time, but Megatron did not take his hand away.

Eventually Soundwave had raised his head and stood straighter. His outward posture was still and firm, displaying a stoicism typical of a mech with such steely control of his body language, but Megatron was close enough to feel the flickering, threadbare frequencies of his EM field. The rigors of the day had taken their toll on him, and his beleaguered spark had nothing left to give. Megatron said, simply, “Recharge,” and gestured to his own berth. Soundwave had obediently laid down and settled in somewhat uncertainly. It felt unimaginably strange, lowering himself down on his Lord's berth, and before he'd even had time to adjust to it, Megatron had strode over and joined him, cranking the strangeness up another notch.

Soundwave had remained utterly still, his backstrut ramrod-straight, so swept up in shock and awkwardness that for a moment he forgot his grief, but his Lord had exhibited nothing but the same calm assurance he carried with him everywhere, and gradually, by degrees, Soundwave had found himself relaxing. They both shifted closer, honestly more out of necessity than out of a desire for contact (The Decepticon leader's berth was spacious, but it had not been intended to accommodate Soundwave as well as Megatron). Megatron had stretched out one arm and pulled Soundwave to his side, a gesture as much of possessiveness as it was of comfort, and perhaps even more so.

Aside from their brief but highly intense tryst earlier, the one that had been interrupted by Blackout's arrival, this was the first time that Megatron had touched his Intended in a way that seemed to convey his... well. His _Intent_.

Soundwave had found the angles and tessellations of his body melding with surprising ease against that of his Lord's, and despite the newness and unexpectedness of his circumstances, he was surprisingly.... content, just lying there. There was something deeply intimate about the way his frame was adjusting itself to mold against that of Megatron's, some metaphor hidden in those slight involuntary adjustments that he did not have the mental wherewithal to analyze. Drained by the physical and emotional tolls of the day, Soundwave found himself drifting into recharge with surprising speed.

Then morning had come around at last, and after Soundwave stared up for a few moments, allowing his processor to overcome his blank astonishment at the site of an unfamiliar ceiling (a sight that jarred him straight out of his usual slow-morning waking ritual), he twisted in the berth to see he was... alone.

He tried not to be too disappointed about that.

Soundwave sat up, immediately meshing with the _Nemesis_ 's security net. As his systems booted, he was aware of a queued personal ping, which he accessed immediately. It was from Megatron. The contents of the message contained a brief report of productivity during the night as well as a very vague and (very) loosely-organized outline for their agenda throughout the day. Megatron was not lax or unintelligent, but he wasn't what would would call an administrator; he was excellent at undermining an active enemy and commanding battles in small and large scales, but everyday organizational tasks usually fell to Soundwave (Starscream had the capability, but not the desire).

It was the sort of message that Soundwave could be expected to receive on any busy day in the middle of a large-scale mining operation, except for a single line tacked on to the end of it all, a very slight alteration on the message's code. Translated into words rather than the raw data in which the message was sent, it would have read something like:

_And if you need me, ask for me._

Most anyone would consider such a simple invitation a lukewarm gesture at best, but Soundwave knew better. Megatron did not make such statements, to anyone, _ever_ ; each Decepticon was expected to need no-one but himself. To be offered the chance to partake of their Lord's own strength was a rare honor indeed. The entirety of the message conveyed one simple thing: Soundwave appreciated routine, and normalcy, and Megatron offered these in consolation to what was likely going to turn out to be another emotionally exhausting day... but just in case he'd miscalculated, just in case Soundwave needed something different, something more, he could have it.

Such an offer from Megatron meant a great deal.

It was perhaps not the most sweepingly romantic thing to wake up to, but Soundwave wasn't expecting his Lord to be terribly good at the whole “romance” thing. Even so, as he stood from the berth and made his slow, measured way across his Lord's quarters, he felt an uncommon warmth blossom from his spark.

It spread through him, suffusing from his chest to his fingertips, before it was gone.

* * *

By the time Optimus, freshly out of recharge, had woken and spoken to Bulkhead, Rumble was also awake. The little mech watched him as he entered, tracking him with optics. The minicon's face was set and grim, as if he were preparing himself to resist... what? Torture? Interrogation? Optimus supposed that the latter was indeed about to happen, but he wasn't about to start grilling Rumble for top-secret Decepticon intel. He would be (and he recognized the irony of this situation) interrogating him to _help_ him, ultimately.

“Rumble,” he said simply as he approached. Ratchet was standing nearby, monitoring Rumble's vitals and ready to sedate him if he needed to. Bulkhead, Arcee, and Bumblebee were nearby. Arcee held herself tensely, ready to react in a moment. Bulkhead had his arms folded, a distinctly unimpressed expression on his face. Bumblebee was leaning on one of the nearby platforms, his door-wings giving an occasional nervous twitch. “You must know--”

“Where's Soundwave?” The minicon immediately snapped.

Optimus inhaled deeply, drawing air slowly through his vents. “I can only assume that Soundwave is where he has always been: at Megatron's side.” Optimus Prime had no idea how right he was.

“The big guy told me you Auto-dweebs had iced him. _Then_ he said he wasn't dead. So which is it _really_?” Rumble's expression betrayed anger, but it was also very guarded. He clearly wasn't sure what to believe, or whether he could even expect the truth in response to his question.

“As far as I know, Soundwave is alive,” Optimus responded quietly, patiently. “We have no reason to believe he has perished. Since you are asking, you are clearly unable to perceive for yourself.”

Rumble opened his mouth, but then just clamped it shut silently. He'd given himself away, and he knew it.

Optimus went on, “You are aware that we have brought you online to question you, but before I begin, I feel you must know that for the moment, our primary concern is securing the safety of your sibling. I understand,” he said, raising a hand momentarily when he saw Rumble's sneer of disbelief, “that you have very little reason to believe such a statement. That is because you understand very little of your current situation. We have reason to believe that Frenzy is currently in the custody of a mutual enemy of the Autobots and Decepticons. They have captured and nearly offlined a Decepticon before. They are uninterested in us as allies, only as a means to enhance their own technology and weaponry. They are called MECH, and I am going to send you a data packet from my own personal archives verifying my claim.”

Over the course of the Prime's speech, Rumble's expression had faded into a puzzlement tempered by heavy skepticism. To be deluged with such a wealth of information when he was expecting an immediate and vigorous interrogation clearly was not what he'd expected. In addition, all of this was being thrown at him with no context. He had no idea where he was or what was going on. “How do I know you ain't gonna upload some kind of virus into my processor? Erase my memories or somethin'?”

“You may accept or deny the transfer request as you please. You also know very well that such subterfuge is not our way.” Optimus replied calmly.

“If we'd wanted to do something terrible to you,” Ratchet cut in somewhat dryly, “we could have done it while you were sleeping.”

Rumble twisted his head to look over at where the medic was standing, grinning suddenly. “I'll be fragged sideways. Your old rust-bucket doctor's still alive! Heh heh.”

Ratchet looked up from his bank of screens to meet Optimus's eye with a particularly wry expression, but he didn't comment on this.

“Rumble. Focus. I am sending you the packet now.” Optimus silently pinged a transfer request to Rumble’s processor. It was a highly unusual situation, occurring as it did between an Autobot and a Decepticon, and he wasn't certain that Soundwave's symbiont would accept. Rumble returned his gaze to Optimus, staring at him in mute skepticism for a few long moments before he accepted the request, likely swayed by the brutal practicality of Ratchet's argument more than anything else.

Once he had the data, he fell silent, running it over in his head, examining every line of code. Memory files could be copied, but they could not be altered easily. Such a task would not only require highly specialized equipment that the Autobots clearly did not have access to, it would require the talents of a surgeon who specialized in such cerebro-medical matters, and Optimus Prime was not even certain if a such an individual was alive any longer.

He stood in silence while Rumble determined the data's veracity and began comb through it. There were certain extra details that he would be able to glean from the intelligence, and that was unavoidable. Rumble would learn, for the first time, that they were on a planet, would learn some measure of what its native inhabitants were and what they were capable of. Arcee shifted uneasily as they all waited in silence for the little mech to speak again.

Proper assimilation of the data would require more time, but Rumble had clearly absorbed the gist of it. “Okay. So. MECH. Pretty rough guys. But if you think they have Frenzy, then it ain't _him_ you need to be worried about. These guys are little and squishy and you know how psycho he gets when he's mad. Or confused. Or... all the time.” Rumble paused, giving the subject additional consideration. “Frenzy's a nutcase,” he concluded.

“Humans might be small, but they're very resourceful,” Ratchet said, surprising Optimus somewhat. “They also have formidable technology at their disposal. The Decepticon they captured and almost dismantled was Breakdown.”

Rumble looked momentarily shocked. “What, Breakdown with the hammer? Knock Out's goon?”

“Yes, _that_ Breakdown.”

Rumble inhaled deeply, venting in a long, slow, measured breath, looking more annoyed by this new information than anything else. Until now, the rest of the Autobots had been silent. Bulkhead was the first to speak. “Doesn't look like there's much love lost between these brothers, does it, Optimus?”

For the first time, Optimus felt a flicker of doubt. He had clearly overestimated the bonds between Decepticons. “Rumble, do you intend to assist us in the recovery of your brother?”

“What?” The prisoner blinked. “Well, yeah, of course I do.”

“You just called him a nutcase,” Bulkhead pointed out.

“That ain't got anything to do with anything!” Rumble shot back. “Who asked you, anyway?”

Before this could dissolve into further bickering, Optimus cut in. “Rumble, I have one additional immediate question to ask you. You are the only salvage we recovered from the vessel--”

“You Autobots are callin' people salvage now?”

“In your case, I'd say garbage,” Bulkhead quipped.

Rumble bared his teeth angrily, but before the squabble could continue, Optimus cut in, “ _And as such_ we must know what else MECH might have recovered from the wreck, and by extension what else they can use against us.” Rumble looked back to him, confusion plain on his face. “Rumble, for the sake of not only your brother's safety, but for the safety of all Cybertronians, I must ask you, did you come to this planet bearing with you the Infinite Combinatoric?”

As soon as the question was uttered, every Autobot went suddenly tense. Ratchet stared at Rumble sidelong, Arcee went abruptly still, and Optimus fixed the minicon with the full force of his stern attention. Bumblebee straightened slightly, his optics cycling to tiny, intent points. Bulkhead alone retained anything resembling a casual air, but even was conscious of the ramifications of Rumble's next words.

“The Infini- _what_ now?” he asked, wrinkling his nasal ridge in confusion. As one, the Autobots breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“That's one question answered, at least,” Bulkhead said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Midday**

 

“I had followed the ship,” Blackout began, “because it was emitting a distress signal.”

The enormous, scarred gladiator was standing in the _Nemesis_ 's bridge, giving his report to the three topmost officers of the ship. Megatron stood still in the center, watching him, with Soundwave silently archiving the discussion from his right, and Starscream standing to his left, staring with wariness down at the sleek creature half-curled at Blackout's feet. After a patch-up, rest, and refuel, the rotary had seen fit to discharge Scorponok, his only symbiont.

The low-slung mech had seemed happy enough to stand in the presence of Lord Megatron, if a little sleepy. He had been stored in dormancy on his host while Blackout made the long and arduous trip to Earth, only re-activating after his host had been given access to sufficient fuel. Soundwave approved of Blackout and Scorponok both; they were loyal, steadfast, and strong in their own ways. They would make excellent additions to the ragged Decepticon ranks.

“A distress signal on a Decepticon band?” Megatron asked. He was standing still, calm, radiating the same sense of self-assured power that he always did, but his EM field was crackling with subtle signals of possessiveness, lightly brushing against Soundwave's every few moments. It wasn't enough to distract from the current proceedings, but rather a constant, silent message delivered continually straight to the subconscious: _mine._

Soundwave was surprised by how pleased that made him.

“No, sir. It was a general call. I followed it,” Blackout went on, shaking his masked face, “because I had nowhere else to go. If it belonged to one of the pirates, I would have followed it to its kinsmen and taken their ship for supplies. If it belonged to an Autobot, I would have done the same, and used what intelligence I'd gathered to find you. If it had belonged to a Decepticon, I would have rendered assistance.” He shrugged, his rotors clattering lightly. “It was the only course of action I could see to take, either way.”

Megatron nodded. The plan, simple though it was, had served Blackout well. Starscream took that moment to chime in,“When the ship entered our atmosphere, we detected no signs of life aboard.”

“Perhaps the inhabitants perished on the journey. Perhaps it was empty all along.” Blackout turned his attention to the seeker. “When I arrived, I was not able to investigate thoroughly. I was unaware we had made war with the... the tiny creatures.”

“They are not _worth_ making war with,” Megatron replied, shaking his head. “If the wreck had contained any Decepticon survivors, the humans would have found out in short and painful order. I shall count myself lucky enough to have recovered a loyal and distinguished soldier.” This was high praise coming from the harsh warlord of the Decepticons. Blackout inclined his helm respectfully, and Scorponok clicked appreciatively from the ground. “At the moment we are in the middle of an energon recovery operation. You are dismissed, Blackout.” Megatron gestured to the doorway at the far end of the hall with an easy, casual wave of his hand, a wave that happened to cause his hand to brush against Soundwave's arm. “Starscream will direct you further.”

Starscream did not look thrilled to have been volunteered to be Blackout's handler. Blackout's flickering EM field signified that he was less than pleased by the match, as well. “Come along, then.” Starscream said, stepping forward. He looked amusingly small against Blackout's massive dark bulk. The seeker gave Scorponok a wide berth, eyeing him warily, and the symbiont gave the drills positioned at the ends of his arms a quick whir, but did not otherwise respond. “You might as well make yourself useful.”

They walked away together. Megatron and Soundwave glanced to one another in silent and concurrent amusement.

* * *

“Nah, I don't mind telling you how we got here. There really ain't much to tell, 'cept that it was a _really fraggin smart idea_ and it worked out. I'm sure you heard about that battle with the pirates? Where we handed their skidplates to 'em on a chromium-plated platter?”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Bulkhead quipped. “Really saved us a lot of trouble, you know.”

Optimus had been trying to calmly interrogate Rumble throughout the course of the morning. The little mech had been stiff with him, wary, but for some reason he was responding well to Bulkhead's questions. It was especially odd considering that Bulkhead had been the one to thwart the minicon's escape. The Prime couldn't tell if it was just because his occasional goading made Rumble forget himself, or if there was some Decepticon-centric precedent for being more attentive to those who had proved themselves in combat.

“Yeah, maybe, but we didn't do it for you. Those Star Seekers flew around like they owned the galaxy.” He grinned fiercely. “Only _one_ mech owns the galaxy, and it ain't _Thundertron_. What a loser.”

“You know, I never found out whether or not he survived that attack. Did he?” Bulkhead asked with real interest.

“Dunno. I didn't see him offlined, but I'm sure if he went up against Lord Megatron, he's scrap by _now_.”

Optimus continued to observe them, silently giving thanks that they wouldn't have to deal with the full might of the Star Seekers chasing them to earth. He wasn't sure whether or not he would have been able to repel them, but he did know that the planet would have been ravaged in the process.

“So you two bugged out in the middle of a fight?” Bulkhead knew this wasn't true, but the minicon fell for the bait anyway.

“Of course we didn't!” Rumble snapped back. “We just got separated from everyone.”

“Decepticon discipline at its finest.”

“Hey, you weren't there, so don't go talkin' like you know what it was like. It was crazy. I'm not sayin' that we didn't take care of business, 'cause we did. Left a few pirate pancakes in our wake, too.” Rumble grinned suddenly, viciously. “But it was either stick with the main group or keep track of Frenzy, and by the time I'd calmed him down, we were split from the rest of the 'Cons.”

“Rumble,” Optimus interjected. The little mech looked to him with a somewhat-blank expression of surprise, as if he'd forgotten that the Prime was there. “You are able to confirm, then, that you are capable of locating your twin through means other than sight?”

Rumble paused, obviously considering how he should answer. “Yeah.” he said finally. “The bond. But it ain't no use to me if he's in stasis or somethin'. Bonds go _dormant._ If you want me to track him down, he's gonna need to be awake. And he's can't be too far away, either. I've got a decent range, but I can't feel him halfway around a planet or nothin'.”

“That could prove to be... problematic.” Optimus didn't feel comfortable disclosing everything to Rumble, but he could already think of a number of ways their plan could go wrong. Their range on Earth was somewhat limited as far as human-inhabited areas, and in addition, there was no guarantee MECH would wake Frenzy before they attempted to dissect him, or that they would permit him to remain awake long enough for Rumble to be of any assistance.

“Well, what _else_ do you want me to tell you? It is what it is.” Rumble was clearly annoyed.

Optimus had no reply. They were going to need to try and narrow their search. He scarcely knew where to begin, but he knew who to talk to about moving forward. “Ratchet, have we received any word from Agent Fowler yet?”

The medic simply shook his head, and Optimus sighed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Afternoon**

 

In many ways, Soundwave was a perceptive mech, but even he could not completely right, all of the time. He had correctly guessed that the brunt of Starscream's irritation had been from his forced contact with Blackout. The seeker was certainly happy to set Blackout on his task for the day (his unique flying style made him the best choice for hauling equipment directly from the Nemesis to the dig site, as well as securing advance deposits of energon straight into the ship's cargo hold), but his deep disquiet came from another quarter, and continued to sour his mood.

He had learned that Soundwave might have trouble producing an heir.

Aside from the fact that Starscream had security clearance on par with Soundwave and rivaled only by Megatron himself, keeping secrets on the Nemesis was especially difficult due to the drones being somewhat gossipy by nature. Starscream had first heard the rumor in hushed whispers as he organized the work forces for that morning, and had dismissed them as drivel. How would a mere Vehicon know of such a thing, when _he_ hadn't received even the slightest inkling?

The notion had disturbed him enough to eventually prompt him to do some checking, and though Knock Out was annoyed to be approached by someone other than Megatron or Soundwave on the issue, patient confidentiality was not necessary an unshakable tenant of Decepticon culture, especially when the mech asking was second-in-command.

“I don't have anything concrete to tell you,” the medic had said with an air of vague disinterest, “because sparking is not an exact science, but yes, that could be the case. It's _your_ funeral if you decide to make a big deal out of it, though.”

Shortly after confirming the rumor, Starscream, irritated that one of their servants had uncovered the truth before him, had gone looking for the drone responsible for first discovering the information. Vague leads led him nowhere, and the most he could discern was that a drone happened to be, in some capacity, nearby when the news was given, which was impossible, given the time of night.

If he had checked the labor logs, he would have discovered that most of the drones had been off-duty at the time, save for a few scattered throughout the ship... and one who was on extended vent-cleaning duty.

Regardless of how it came to be known, he could not ignore the fact that the rumor was true. The heart of his argument for persuading his Lord to take a Bondmate had been the necessity of providing an heir, and despite the fact that Megatron's Intended might not even be able to fulfill that part of his role, the leader of the Decepticons had remained firm in his decision. Starscream had, up until that point, not completely abandoned his efforts to change his Lord's mind about his choice, but he couldn't fool himself into thinking he would succeed where sheer technobiological incompatibility had failed.

There would be no dissuading Megatron, at least not from anyone but Soundwave. Starscream knew when it was time to admit defeat... or when to decide that the battle wasn't worth winning anyway. Over the course of the day he hadn't given the matter much thought, being distracted as he was by Blackout's company, but he had unconsciously been heaping disdain upon the idea to such a point that when it came time to examine his plan's strategy, there was only one option available: abandonment.

Starscream felt no shame in this. His gambit to try and gain an extra edge over Lord Megatron through a bonding had failed, and it wasn't as if his choice of Soundwave would change much, anyway. Soundwave already answered directly to Megatron, and Megatron already valued his silent Communications Chief's input. It was terribly easy for Starscream to wash his hands of the whole matter, and the Seeker was ready to convince himself that he'd never _really_ cared in the first place.

Besides, if he were ever to bond with someone (an unlikely occurrence), he would likely prefer a more submissive partner. He had to do enough bowing and scraping in regards to interaction with his faction; it would be highly gratifying to revel in the authority and power he had over another willing individual... and that train of thought reminded him.

He had some loose ends to tie up.

The drones were working in shifts, so that at any given time roughly one-third of their population was on the ground, assisting and guarding the miners. Tracking down a specific drone in a sea of lookalikes was somewhat difficult, but after some asking around he finally managed to narrow down the location of the one who called himself “Steve.”

He was having a conversation with another ground-based Vehicon, both of them looking over a datapad as they stood on the clear-cut ground outside of the wide, circular lip of the mine. They both froze when they saw Starscream approaching, and the drone holding the datapad immediately drew himself up to nervous attention. “As you were,” Starscream said, looking him over. “As a matter of fact, go for a walk. I have important confidential matters to discuss.”

The drone glanced to Steve, evidently nervous, but obeyed, albeit with hesitance evident in his movements. The seeker began to walk, motioning for Steve to fall into step with him, while Steve's datapad-wielding companion watched them go. “I trust you have heard the rumors.”

Steve hesitated, obviously uncertain as to how he should answer. He gave a brief nod.

“Certainly this sort of... discovery is monumental enough to have made a difference in the intentions of our Lord, if he were willing to be persuaded.” Starscream folded his hands behind his back, his wings held at a steep, elegant angle. He was watching the drone from the corner of his eye, and the Vehicon was keeping step with him and was staring at him with keen attentiveness. “Under the circumstances, I think any future efforts to uncover any... incriminating data would only be futile.”

Steve nodded again. “Sounds reasonable.”

Up until that point, Starscream hadn't quite decided just how he would tie up this particular loose end. The easiest course of action would be to simply kill the drone. It wasn't as if he would be missed, or his death would have any impact on the army as a whole. Drones died all the time. And yet... the Vehicon had proven that he could be of material aid when Starscream had made an unusual and difficult request of him. For whatever reason of his own, he was willing to let his loyalties lie first and foremost with Starscream.

That was a rare thing, and could prove to be truly useful in the future. If he became a problem later, he could easily be dispatched at that time. “It goes without saying that you need to forget any of that happened, of course.”

“Any of _what_ happened, sir?”

Oh, this one caught on quick. _A drone after my own spark._ “Precisely,” was his simple reply.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Evening**

 

Rumble had been largely silent for the past few hours, his focus turned inward as he digested the data that Optimus had fed him on MECH. There hadn't been much more of immediate necessity to say to him once they'd secured his cooperation. Bumblebee had left for an evening patrol, and Ratchet had retreated to the store-rooms to properly go through the salvage they'd recovered before Rumble's appearance had taken their full and immediate attention.

“That was probably the quickest interrogation I've ever witnessed,” Bulkhead snorted, breaking the long silence.

“What other fraggin' choice did I have?” Rumble demanded, snapping out of his slight daze and glaring over at the Autobot. “You got me locked up either way. You _could_ be lying, even though it _looks_ like you're telling the truth. The way I see it, if you are lying, you're doing it so you can get your hands on Frenzy and make us your prisoners. That sucks, but at least we'd be alive.” He wriggled slightly In his bonds, attempting to make a curt gesture with one hand, but he was unable. Instead, he just continued. “But if you're not lying, then he's going to get himself torn apart by aliens. So it'd be worse for me to do nothing than to do something, 'cos if I do nothing he could _die_ , and if I do something at least he _probably_ won't, 'cause we'll be prisoners, which is better than being dead. How could I ever look the Boss in the optic again if I told him I just sat around while Frenzy got destroyed?”

Bulkhead paused a moment, brow furrowed as he digested Rumble's rather rambling explanation. Arcee nudged him, amused. “Can't argue with _that_ logic.”

Rumble fell silent again, as did the Autobots. There was much to think about as far as moving forward meant—to say nothing of what they were going to say to Jack, Raf, and Miko—but mere moments after conversation had ceased, the tell-tale sound of the elevator door opening broke the silence, followed by a familiar voice.

“ _Prime!”_

Every optic in the room turned towards the highly-irate form of Agent William Fowler as he strode out of the elevator he normally used to visit his Autobot counterparts. Of all the security measures that had been taken, it seemed the simplest one had somehow in the rush: locking the “front door,” as it were. “Where is he? I told him we'd talk about Nicara--”

“Eugh, is _that_ one of them?” Rumble asked from his position on the table, his faceplates twisting in disgust.

Fowler, upon hearing the unfamiliar voice, turned to look at the bound minicon, and blinked widely, for the moment stunned out of his temper. “...gua.” He finally finished.

“Agent Fowler, I am afraid I must ask you to leave,” Optimus said immediately, stepping forward. “the base is not secure.”

“Is that a con?” the human asked, turning to face Optimus doubtfully.

“This guy catches on quick,” Rumble snickered from the table.

Fowler shot him a withering glance before he turned back to Optimus, striding towards him and utterly ignoring his warning. “We need to talk. Now. I've got more people breathing down the back of my neck than I can _count_ about yesterday morning's little exercise--”

“I thought the fort was cleared.” Arcee had been leaning against a wall, arms folded, and now she stood, casting a worried glance in Optimus's direction.

“I'm not talking about what happened at Fort Campbell. Turns out there was some more moving and shaking of the giant robot variety in Central America yesterday. Something _big_ came down.”

Optimus had his mouth open, likely to reiterate his desire for Fowler to leave, but he froze. “Another ship?” he asked immediately, his expression intent. Bulkhead and Arcee's attention focused with razor-keen intensity on Fowler, as well. All optics were on the human. From his position on the table, Rumble narrowed his eyes.

“I think s--”

Fowler never got a chance to finish his sentence. A mad crashing suddenly interrupted his words, and all eyes turned to Rumble. The little mech had no leverage with which to push himself free or to try and wriggle out of his bonds, which, at any rate, would have held down a mech several times his strength. Pile-drivers required no leverage, and he might not have been able to break his bonds, but the table on which he was being held...

That was _another_ story.

It dented and crumpled under the assault, the power couplings feeding his bonds sparking out as they were pulverized. In an instant Arcee darted towards him, putting herself between Fowler and the little mech. Bulkhead was already charging, and Optimus took his place by Arcee. Bulkhead had been the closest to Rumble, and by the time the Decepticon had shook off the rubble of the table, he was swinging his wrecking ball. He'd trounced Rumble quite neatly the night before, but the minicon was no longer exhausted and desperate. He was fueled and furious.

He rolled under the clumsy swing and made a beeline for the elevator, which he was actually small enough to fit in, bounding up the stairs and shifting one arm back into a hand as he did. Arcee was the only one fast enough to reach him, and she vaulted up the opposite stairs, but before she could intercept Rumble grasped the nearest banister and swung himself clear over the side, landing on the floor and sprinted desperately towards the nearest hallway.

Then there was Optimus to deal with, as the Prime had finally turned to him. Optimus's considerable size and skill made him a danger on any battlefield, but he couldn't fight physics. He was too large to have anything but trouble with fine maneuvers in such a limited space. At any rate, Rumble had his pile-driver ready; a quick and brutal pound to the rock floor sent fissures spider-webbing away from the point of impact. Optimus skidded to a stop before he could get caught on the uneven ground. Bulkhead bull-rushed past him, having prepared another charge, and unfortunately blundered right into the trap, stumbling on the uneven ground. He nearly crashed on top of Rumble, who had to dive to the side to avoid such a fate. The minicon was thus forced to abandon his strategy of holding his foes at bay.

“What in Primus's name--” Ratchet had emerged from the hallway. Rumble spared a quick glance back at him, swore colorfully, and returned his attentions to his foes just in time to duck a vicious kick from Arcee, who had once again joined the fray. He rolled again, coming wide around Optimus as the larger mech turned to face him again, a look of concern on his faceplates.

“Rumble, this is not--”

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. His wild dodging had brought him around the Autobots entirely, and pushing himself up off the floor, where he'd fallen in the scuffle, was Agent Fowler. Optimus followed his gaze, sensing his intent, but it was too late. The little mech flung himself forward. Bulkhead and Arcee converged on the spot, the smaller femme putting on a desperate burst of speed, but Rumble seized Fowler by his suit jacket and pulled the human against him, aiming his remaining pile-driver at the man's head.

“I don't _think_ so,” he snapped, his faceplates twisted in a snarl. The entire desperate struggle had taken perhaps two and a half minutes.

“Rumble,” Optimus went on, his voice calm, “this is unnecessary. You know we mean you no harm.”

“You. Rust-bucket.” Rumble nodded to Ratchet. “Open the space-bridge.” Rumble had clearly recognized the structure of the gate occupying the far wall of the Autobot's base, even if he didn't know the correct name for it.

“We cannot help you find your brother if you run away from us,” the Prime continued.

“ _I'll find him without you_!” Rumble shrieked back. “If you think I'm gonna let you Autobots lead me around like some kinda turbo-pup on a leash to get what you want, you're wrong. I don't need you. Get a move on!” He directed the last words at Ratchet, who had yet to move. When he saw the medic glancing to Optimus questioningly, he added, “Do it or I bash his soft little processor in.”

Fowler had not struggled since he was grabbed. Aside from the usual undercurrent of anger, his face was blank as he assessed the situation. Being taken hostage by an alien robot was not something the Army Rangers prepared someone for, but he knew the best thing for him was to keep calm and not to give Rumble an excuse to carry out his threat. Optimus looked to him, but Fowler didn't meet his eyes. The human had no idea what was at stake here, and was not about to influence his comrades' decision.

The nobility of the action was impossible to ignore. Optimus sighed in evident disappointment and said, “Do it, Ratchet.”

Ratchet carefully crossed the room to obey while Rumble began to back towards the ground-bridge, still holding Fowler. The medic moved slowly, with exaggerated care, making his movements as simple as possible. He began to activate the groundbridge to its last-known coordinates, but as these were Fort Campbell, he switched to the destination immediately before it in the queue: Nicaragua. Rumble would do much less harm at the crash site than he would at a crowded military base. He didn't have time to input any other destination, for fear of Fowler's safety.

Rumble held perfectly still as the shifting green tunnel blazed to life behind him. He stepped backwards slowly, carefully, testing each step while keeping his eyes on the Autobots. When he sensed the threshold between the room and the bridge's destination (a strange sensation, as if he were pushing through some sort of barely-solid membrane), he nodded. It was time to go. “By the way, Bulkhead.”

The former wrecker raised his head slightly at the mention of his name, his blue optics narrowing.

Rumble shifted his grip on Fowler and gave the human's arm a vicious twist, wrenching it in its shoulder socket. The human, to his credit, did not cry out, but his pained gasp was all the proof that Rumble needed to know that he'd injured his prisoner. He shoved the human to the ground, grinning in the eerie green light of the groundbridge as he stepped back and away from his former hostage. “I lied about the Combinatoric.”

Then he stepped back, crossed the threshold, and was gone.

Arcee immediately darted forward, kneeling by Fowler, who waved her on, urging her through gritted teeth, “Go! I'll be fine. Just... dislocated.” The agent pushed himself into a sitting position. Everything had happened so fast that for once he was too stunned to pepper his alien liaisons with questions. Arcee glanced back to Optimus questioningly, and her leader just nodded.

“Go. I'll send Bumblebee after you.”

“He's in Nicaragua, at the crash site!” Ratchet called after her. “You have to stop him before he reaches civilization!”

Arcee was already running.

* * *

Rumble skidded on the dust at the other end of the groundbridge and immediately turned on his heel, running. A quick glance to the left brought the burned-out hulk of the cargo crawler into view. He was struck by how _old_ it looked, how beaten-up and rusted. How long had he and Frenzy been out? There was no time to think about that now, though, and he forced himself to concentrate. The Autobots would be on his heels in another instant, and though he didn't think he had the best chances of escaping them while stranded in the middle of apparently nowhere on an alien world, it was a step above being strapped to a table in the middle of their base.

He was out in the open now, fueled, free, and most importantly, _not_ buried under layers of stifling rock. The little mech slowed and turned his focus inward, towards the withered and dormant bond. “C'mon, Boss, c'mon--” It blazed to life instantaneously, and he gave a startled little laugh at how easily and fiercely the connection burned. He sent out a wordless pulse, a telepathic distress call. _I'm here,_ it said simply. _Come and get me._

He heard the tell-tale sound of footsteps behind him. The femme had come through the gate. He was dimly aware of the sound of it closing and then almost instantaneously opening once more, and the roar of a powerful and eager engine forced him to turn his attention to his foes. He whirled, glaring as Bumblebee transformed behind Arcee, who now had her weapon aimed at him. He began to back away slowly, keeping the wreck of the crawler at his back to prevent himself from being surrounded.

 _You'd better be quick about it,_ he amended.

“You're lucky Optimus wants you alive,” Arcee said lowly.

“You're gonna hafta excuse me if I don't lay on the ground and grovel with gratitude,” Rumble snapped.

“It's more of a chance than most of _us_ have ever gotten.” Was her clipped response.

Rumble sneered, and pounded the ground on either side of him. He was through exchanging false pleasantries with these Autobots. “Come _get_ some.”

The sun was setting over Nicaragua.

* * *

All in all, it had been a good day.

Soundwave stood on the broad, flat landing pad on top of the _Nemesis,_ observing the work below with all outward signs of impassiveness. Between one thing and another, he'd been kept busy, which was honestly the best thing for him, considering the many unpleasant revelations of the day before. More so than that, though, Megatron's behavior had begun to change.

It had started with the interview with Blackout, and persisted through the day. His Lord had taken more opportunities to touch Soundwave when they were near, had watched him with perhaps more attentiveness than was strictly professional; he made small innocuous gestures that, on their own, didn't really do much to change a well-established and highly efficient working relationship, but when put together...

He had taken Soundwave's concerns to heart. He wasn't terribly skilled at romance, but Soundwave had not expected his Lord to suddenly transform into someone tender and debonair. Soundwave honestly would have probably been unnerved if he _had_. It was the effort that counted, in the end, and the effort was being made. It was reassuring and pleasing, and the effortlessness of it made Soundwave all the more aware of how well they fit together.

His thoughts were too scattered at the moment for him to do any hard thinking about his courtship, about his feelings regarding a permanent and life-altering bond, but he felt surprisingly optimistic about it all. He turned this over in his mind as he stared down at the work below: from his vantage point, the desolation that the Decepticon miners had wreaked on the Amazonian rainforest looked like a wound in the side of the world. Dull brown devastation surrounded the gaping, ragged pit of the mine like a bruise against the lush greenery all around it, and the river itself was beginning to clog and thicken with churned-up mud, overlaid by a chemical sheen from the mine's run-off. The light of the dying sun lent it an almost hellish red glow, punctuated here and there by the blue glimmer of harvested energon.

To Soundwave, the destruction simply represented progress, and that made it beautiful.

At that moment, a surge hit his spark like a hammer-blow, and everything changed. His EM field crackled with sudden tension and, without a word, his featureless mask of a face snapped immediately to the north.

* * *

Rumble was a difficult mech to approach when he wanted to keep his enemies at a distance, and especially so when his enemies weren't allowed to blast him to smithereens. Still, Optimus had done well to send two of his quickest soldiers after him: he had been forced by degrees away from the wreck by their rapid one-two punch assaults, which now left him with a wider area to guard against their darting strikes. His defensive pummeling of the ground had helped him keep his enemies at a distance, but it had also kicked up an inconvenient amount of dust, which drifted in loose clouds around him.

Close as he was to the ground, it was difficult to see his foes. His situation was looking more and more desperate. For that reason, Arcee became intensely worried when, through a thin veil of dust, she saw his expression go momentarily from seething anger, to shock, to a broad, vicious grin.

She became even more worried when Rumble began to laugh.

* * *

“I still can't believe he didn't kill you,” was the first thing 404 said to Steve. “Not literally, of course, since you're standing here and all. But you know what I mean.”

Steve was still somewhat shell-shocked by the whole affair. He and Starscream had a secret. There was something delightfully intimate about sharing unspeakable knowledge with him. Of course, as soon as the conversation had ended, it was back to work for him, and he'd been a little surprised to find that 404 had managed to slip out of the _Nemesis_ and out onto the mining ground proper. He had not been surprised when his friend had immediately began to prod him about the whole affair. For now, Steve didn't say anything immediately in response.

He and his drone companions were unpacking equipment to be taken further into the heart of the mine. Around them, the warm, wet tropical twilight was alive with the sounds of the miners working and the other drones chattering. It was quite peaceful.

“We should call ourselves lucky that this didn't end in disaster,” Switchgear opined somewhat primly, not looking up from his own datapad. Earlier that morning, he had been dragged away from his workstation for some much-needed administrating in the field: maintenance on the equipment in such harsh conditions was not easy. He snorted through his vents and tapped his datapad. “No wonder they can't find the drill wheel-axle replacements, someone stored them in the _decommissioned interstellar equipment._ It's going to take _ages_ to move all of that. Why would you even...” He trailed off, muttering.

“Get tall, dark, and fearsome to help you.” 404 responded drolly, nodding to where Blackout was rising above the treeline. He'd been ferrying freight between the _Nemesis_ and the mining site all day long, and showed no signs of tiring. The drones, as a whole, were rather impressed by his usefulness and willingness to work; coming as he had from rather humble beginnings in the badlands, he also wasn't inclined to put on airs around them. It didn't hurt that his enormous, powerful frame was decidedly easy on the optics, either.

“Mm, it isn't that vital,” Switchgear followed his gaze, watching their newest comrade ascend with a cocked head. “Not until something breaks down, anyway.” Because he had his optic band trained on the sky, he was the first to spot Soundwave's odd behavior. Megatron's Third took one, two steps forward from where he'd been observing atop the _Nemesis_ , and then sprung into the air, his plates shifting in a furious whirl as he transformed. “Hmm. I wonder where he's going.”

Soundwave veered sharply away from Blackout's ascending form, which had been heading on a dogged course that would have intercepted him, turning himself towards the open sky. The jerkiness of the gesture and the near-collision startled the drones watching below. Such hastiness was extremely unusual coming from Soundwave.

Far above, in the teeth of the wind, Soundwave's processor was spinning with mad calculation and sending flickering bursts of wireless commands to the _Nemesis_ ; the air before him shimmered, distorted, and the glowing tunnel of a groundbridge yawned before him.

In an instant, he had gone through it.

“I... didn't know he could do that,” 404 said slowly. All three drones had watched the events in silence, a silence that had gone from curious to uneasy. Blackout had stopped moving and was hovering in place, evidently just as confused as they were. “Has he ever done that before?”

“He hasn't,” Steve replied.

A moment of silence ensued. “I think,” Switchgear finally said, “we need to let Lord Megatron know about this.”

* * *

Soundwave was nothing if not precise. While Arcee had been baiting Rumble from the front, Bumblebee had closed from behind, but before he could make use of his advantage, a ground-bridge opened immediately to his left and a high-velocity mass collided with him, sending him sprawling. In the choking dust and gathering darkness, it was difficult for Bumblebee to immediately tell what had happened, but he rolled to his feet and leaped gracefully back to regroup with Arcee, recognizing the unseen assailant as a threat, if nothing else.

His foe had transformed before he hit the ground, the impact forcing him to crouch low to absorb the shock. Slowly, a slim, dark form rose out of the dust, a blank, featureless face reflecting the wan light of the distant sunset. Rumble wasted no time, hurriedly taking his place next to his carrier and readying his weapons once again. He was grinning again, his eyes narrowed to malicious red slits.

Even from half a dozen yards away, Arcee and Bumblebee could feel the force of the _rage_ thundering through Soundwave's EM field.

“Optimus,” Arcee barked through her comm unit as she backed away. Before her, Soundwave was lowering himself into a crouch and his armor was making hissing, popping sounds as he deployed his remaining symbionts. “We're going to need some backup.”


	10. A Rebuke, a Return, and a Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That you guys so much for your positive feedback! I really appreciate all of your support for this fic, regardless of how wide and wildly it's strayed from the canon. You guys are all excellent, and your enthusiasm for this fic really inspires confidence! As always, I apologize for the delay, and as always, I hope to be able to get the next chapter out before such an unreasonably long amount of time has passed. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Squicks in this chapter: None!

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Chapter 9 - A Rebuke, a Return, and a Revelation**

At first, the Autobots' objective had simply been retrieval. Rumble had hinted that he knew more about the whereabouts of the Combinatoric than he'd led the Autobots to believe, and if this was the case, returning him to their custody was of the highest priority. It wasn't so much that the Autobots were focused on Rumble. They were focused on what Rumble _knew_ , what he could give them. As soon as Soundwave had entered the fray, the objective had shifted to one simple, single imperative.

Survival.

Retreat had been called, but a ground bridge couldn't be opened right in front of Soundwave and his miniature army. The risk of infiltration was too high, and the fact that it was the Decepticons' master spy that was on the battlefield only heightened that risk. Arcee and Bumblebee had spent the last frantic handful of minutes trying to distance themselves from the threat, but they weren't getting far.

Ravage and Laserbeak were a match for the femme's advantage in speed, and Bumblebee refused to leave her side. Separating, at that point, would only end the struggle that much quicker. Laserbeak and Ravage harried the pair with quick hit-and-run attacks while Rumble blocked off further avenues of escape from a greater distance. The Autobots were boxed in and being driven back against the bulk of the wreck. Their earlier efforts had been forcing Rumble out into the open, and they were now finding themselves at the receiving end of the opposite tactic.

While his symbionts flew, stalked, and stomped across the battlefield, Soundwave advanced slowly, methodically, moving in absolute silence.

 

* * *

 

Blackout transformed before he even hit the ground, landing heavily on the tight-packed mud. Almost before his plates had finished settling, he was approached by a handful of drones, and they immediately began to pepper him with questions. The phrasings were varied, but the general question seemed to be: what was _that_ all about?

“He came out of nowhere,” Blackout rumbled back, glancing to the sky. It was somewhat disconcerting to be confronted with such odd behavior on his first day of full duty. The former gladiator gave a thoughtful pause. “Did he just open a ground-bridge in _midair_?”

“Did you see him before he transformed?” A somewhat prim voice broke through the general murmur as a ground-based Vehicon wormed his way through the crowd with the aid of a slightly-larger drone. “He flew off towards the north before he disappeared, sir. That way.” He gestured vaguely.

Blackout considered this. “He was staring in that direction.”

“Are we under attack?” Another drone asked anxiously. The buzz of voices rose again slightly as the drones cast about for any sign of danger. A few of them left the group, heading off to check on the miners.

“You'd better come with me,” Blackout said suddenly, looking down at the mech who'd spoken with him directly.

The prim Vehicon cocked his head, attentive but bewildered. “Sir...?”

“We should tell Lord Megatron.”

Inside, there were only a few signs that anything was amiss. Soundwave's departure hadn't done anything to scramble the inner workings of the Nemesis except perhaps to cut off the feed of some presently-confused Eradicons on monitor duty. Megatron himself was on the bridge, grimly surveying a screen full of flickering images and readouts: footage of the mine and the surrounding forest, tables listing energy yield rates, and other such mundane but important details. The mining operation was beginning to draw to a close, and there were many final reports to be sifted through and reviewed.

He didn't seem to be reading them _too_ closely.

Blackout approached him briskly while the two Vehicons followed at his heels, both of them radiating an air of faint nervousness. “Lord Megatron, forgive my impertinence, but is there a present threat I am currently unaware of? Soundwave left the dig site in a hurry.”

Megatron glanced over the Blackout, his eyes narrowing slightly as his brows drew together in confusion. “There is no attack. You say he left?”

“Completely. He opened a ground bridge in midair.” Blackout's rotors clattered in a slight shrug. “He was heading north.”

The warlord gave an inarticulate rumble as he considered this. It was clear he knew about as much of what was going on as they did, which was to say, not much. “The coordinates should still be logged. You.” He gestured to the Vehicons, “See exactly where he went.”

The two Vehicons had been watching in utter silence. The taller one didn't seem quite as rattled as his stuffy companion, who looked as if he'd spent the entire short conversation silently trying to fold in upon himself, possibly in the hopes of disappearing entirely. They both stood at full attention, though, and made for the nearest console.

The prim Vehicon typed away while his friend stood near, and Megatron returned his attention to Blackout. “You received no comms of any kind? Soundwave is not known to speak very much these days.”

Blackout paused to double-check his comms for any sort of signal, pure data or otherwise. “Nothing, my Lord.”

The smaller Vehicon very tentatively piped up, “Lord Megatron? It seems that Chief Soundwave bridged himself to the crash site.” He was standing straighter, his attention focused on his task rather than the intimidating presence of his master, and was rubbing one talon along the underside of his chin, obviously perplexed. “Precisely where we found Blackout...”

This only made matters more puzzling. Soundwave was a private mech, but he behaved in a very reliably quiet and subdued fashion. Furthermore, no matter how covert his actions might typically have been, he never, _never_ left his Lord out of the loop. A few moments of silence followed the drone's proclamation, and it was Blackout who spoke first. “Would you like me to go after him?”

“No.” Megatron paused, and then turned away from the mechs assembled, striding down the length of the bridge. “ _I_ will.”

 

* * *

 

 

Arcee and Bumblebee had managed to keep themselves from getting pinned against the wall of the wreck, but it had come at a price. Laserbeak had scored a lucky hit on the yellow scout, targeting the minor wound that he'd sustained in his scuffle with MECH, burning deep into his side. Bumblebee was holding up admirably despite the pain, but he'd been slowed down quite a bit, and Arcee could only move as fast as her comrade. Bumblebee had dropped to one knee, one hand clapped over the injury, which was seeping energon, while Arcee stood protectively in front of him, her blasters drawn.

Laserbeak was looping wide, ready for another round, and Ravage was keeping his distance, tail flickering. Rumble, though, was advancing with a grin on his face, his piledrivers cocked and ready. “Looks like it's time,” he said as he drew near, “for a little payback.”

Soundwave was still approaching, but he didn't look as if he was in a hurry to interrupt his symbiont's fun.

Then, without any sort of preamble, a groundbridge was opening, hissing lightly in the stillness of the evening air and bathing the battlers with pale green light. Ravage immediately leaped forward, ready to make a run for the bridge and head off the Autobots, should they decide to retreat, but the feline came to a skidding halt and lunged away when he saw the tall figure striding through the bridge.

Optimus Prime.

Immediately Soundwave called his symbionts to his side, a wordless imperative that they obeyed simultaneously. Laserbeak swooped low while Rumble shuffled hurriedly backwards, followed by Ravage, who assumed a narrow-eyed and half-crouched stance by Soundwave's side. The plating of Soundwave's chest slid apart and he extended his feelers, long and looping and crackling with electricity.

“Soundwave,” Optimus Prime said slowly. As he spoke, Bulkhead lumbered through the gate, coming to a halt beside him. “I do not want to fight you.”

Soundwave took a single step forward, and on either side of him Ravage and Rumble did the same, moving in perfect sync with their host. Every angle of Soundwave's slim frame radiated aggression.

“My troops will be retreating,” the Prime went on. Beside him, Bulkhead hefted his wrecking ball and steadied his stance, ready to strike out. He and Rumble were glaring fixedly at one another. “But I have something very, very important to tell you.”

Soundwave's response was to whipcrack his feelers, sending sparks spitting in all directions, a silent yet eloquent gesture of his contempt. On the heels of it, though, a second groundbridge opened in the sky above, and the air was filled with the roaring of aircraft engines: the silvery form of Megatron's alt-mode thundered into view, flanked by four Eradicon fliers.

This was an understandably distracting moment, and Arcee and Bumblebee took their opportunity to make a break for the safety of Optimus's presence. Soundwave's visor flickered to them, but he did not move. The drones made a quick loop to orient themselves and landed one by one behind Soundwave, their wings hiked up aggressively high.

Megatron himself landed heavily in front of them, and, eyes locked on Optimus Prime, made his steady, deliberate way to Soundwave's side. He stood there, his predatory coldness a sharp contrast to Soundwave's barely-contained fury. The disparity was made even more apparent by the fact that they were standing side-by-side, and the fact that under normal circumstances, their roles would have been reversed.

Autobot and Decepticon regarded one another, their troops divided by an invisible line. Night was falling at last in Nicaragua.

“Megatron,” Optimus said simply.

“Prime,” Megatron rasped in return.

The two old warriors stared at one another, optics locked, the air filled with that unmistakable, crackling tension that always arose when they stood in one another's presence, a tension as old as the war itself. Neither looked away, but Optimus was the first to break the silence. “I was just telling your third-in-command that I have important information to impart.”

“How very generous of you.” Megatron replied evenly.

“I already know everythin' they need to know,” Rumble sneered. Megatron blinked, startled, and looked in the direction of the voice. Optimus had garnered his full initial attention, and in the gathering dusk, the Minicon's tiny form had blended in with that of the mech he stood beside: his host. Had the circumstances not been so dire, the Autobots might have found the expression of sheer dumbfoundedness on the warlord's face amusing.

Optimus simply paused and looked down, staring hard at Rumble. It was easy to forget when one was listening to the gentle cadence of his voice, when one was so accustomed to his patient pleas for peace, that the mech standing there was a warrior. Rumble held the piercing gaze for a single defiant moment before he looked away.

There was a sudden flurry of movement on the Autobots' side of the field, and instantly the tension in the air snapped. Bulkhead shoved Bumblebee through the ground bridge, covering his escape with the bulk of his body. The Eradicons opened fire, and one of them darted forward, drawing a beat on Arcee.

Bulkhead moved to intercept, swinging his wrecking ball in a single brutal arc and batting the Eradicon out of the air easily. It crashed to the ground, its side dented horribly, too wounded to be an immediate threat any longer. Optimus Prime stepped forward, his axe already formed, while Arcee disappeared through the ground bridge. “Go!” he called to Bulkhead. Megatron snarled, letting the plates of his arm shift and re-form into a blade, preparing to meet his age-old enemy in their timeless struggle once again—only this time, he wasn't quite fast enough.

Soundwave charged forward ahead of him, tentacles lashing angrily. For a moment both Optimus and Megatron stalled in shock, but then the angry carrier was directly in front of the Prime and striking out with uncharacteristic savagery, and Optimus was forced to rally himself for defense.

Soundwave's attacks were lightening-fast, a staccato rain of blows that the Prime was unable to fully block. The sheer ferocity of the assault forced the larger mech to remain on the defensive, and though Optimus was robust enough to absorb the damage of the blows he wasn't able to block, he was still unable to counterattack. Even Soundwave's symbionts had been caught off-guard by the attack, and they hesitated, unable to assist: their host was embroiled too closely with the Prime to step in.

Prime grimly held his ground, but Soundwave eventually got lucky. His lashing feelers finally found an opening, and a single one darted forth, latching onto Optimus's frame and pumping him full of electricity. Optimus went rigid with agony and brought the hilt of his axe crashing down on Soundwave's head. The gesture was primarily reflexive, but it was extremely effective, delivering a crushing blow.

The smaller mech reeled momentarily, but gamely lunged in again, only to be struck once more with the hilt of the axe. He was lucky that he was too close for Optimus to properly aim his attack, because the blow hit him squarely to side of the head. Had he been struck blade-first, he probably would have been dead, and though the blow was rendered non-lethal by the clumsiness of the strike, Soundwave was still left staggered by the sheer might of the Prime. As he stumbled backward, Megatron paused, his attention diverted momentarily to Soundwave's fallen form before it snapped immediately back to Optimus. With an inarticulate roar of rage, he charged. The warlord never pulled his punches, but his blade met Optimus's with an unprecedented violence.

All of this had happened in the span of a handful of frenetic seconds, and Bulkhead had hesitated. A fresh barrage of fire from the Eradicons forced his decision, and he made for the groundbridge as fast as his ungainly form could while Megatron and Optimus exchanged blows. As always, they seemed evenly matched, with neither mech gaining advantage over the other for long, but Megatron was fighting like a mech possessed, once again forcing Optimus to remain on the defensive.

The drones now faced the same problem Soundwave's symbionts had earlier. Both mechs were too close to be fired upon, so the drones split up, two of them coming around one side to try and cut off Bulkhead's escape while the remaining one rushed to the aid of their fallen comrade. Bulkhead leaped through the ground bridge, flinging himself into the vortex just in time to miss a volley of laser fire from the drones, who slid to a halt.

Optimus did not drag out the battle. As soon as he was sure Bulkhead was clear, he switched tactics. His goal from the beginning had been simple retreat, and the extra fire in Megatron's spark wasn't giving Optimus any advantages. He gathered all of his strength and dealt the warlord an almighty one-two punch, first with a vicious swipe of his axe-blade, and then with a crushing punch from his free fist. The blade cut deep into the warlord's chest armor, sending Megatron stumbling to the side, and the punch connected directly with his face, momentarily stunning him. Optimus broke free and beat his retreat.

Soundwave rose to his feet, ready to pursue, rage still dominating every layered frequency of his EM field. Ravage and Laserbeak had already come to his side, and Rumble skidded over, as well, pounding a fist into his open palm. “I'm game if you are, Boss!” he panted.

Something in the tone of Rumble's voice made Soundwave hesitate, and he glanced down. The little mech was scuffed, dented, and generally looking worse for the wear. He didn't seem about to collapse from exhaustion, but his EM field was flickering in a way that indicated he was sorely in need of maintenance. The sight of his charge, battered and neglected but ready to fight further, forcibly shifted Soundwave's priorities. He had a symbiont to tend to.

Megatron shook off his injuries and charged after Optimus, but the Autobot was through the ground bridge in an instant, and the swirling vortex drew itself to a close seconds before Megatron could draw near enough to step inside.

Soundwave remained still, still staring down at the Minicon by his side. Realization was sinking in. He didn't just have a symbiont to tend to, he had _Rumble_ to tend to. _His_ Rumble, a mech he hadn't been sure he would ever see again. The sparks along his feelers subsided and Soundwave turned to the wayward Minicon, who blinked up at him, puzzled by the sudden shift in body language. “Boss?” Wordlessly, Soundwave dropped to one knee and pulled Rumble against his chest, holding his symbiont against his spark.

“Aww, c'mon, Boss, in front of Lord Megatron?” Rumble protested, glancing over to the warlord in question, grimacing in chagrin. In response, Soundwave simply wrapped his data cables around Rumble, looping them around the little mech in a possessive, protective embrace. Rumble's protest could just be made out, muffled by Soundwave's chest and the layers of limbs enveloping him. “Not the _feelers!_ ”

Rumble would have been happy to know that Megatron was pointedly looking away from the spectacle out of respect not just for the bond between host and symbiont, but also out of respect for the privacy of his Intended. Eventually, Soundwave subsided, withdrawing his tentacles and releasing Rumble. He stood. “Rumble,” he intoned, and the low harmonics of his voice drew the startled looks of his Lord and the scattered Eradicons, “return.”

Rumble stood up straight, and his plates began to shift slightly, before he blinked, frowning as he took in Soundwave's form. “Hmm. I think we're gonna have a little bit of trouble there, Boss.”

Megatron finally approached, looking from Soundwave to Rumble in silence. The Eradicons approached behind him, two of them shifting their blasters back into arms, while the third supported the fourth, who was conscious despite the awful dent in his side. He clearly wasn't flying anywhere. Under different circumstances, he might have simply been left or culled (depending on the extent of his injury), but luckily for him, Rumble was also going to need a ground-friendly trip back to the Nemesis. “Welcome back,” Megatron said simply. “You've been gone a very long time, as I'm sure you're aware. I trust you have much to tell us, Rumble.”

Rumble grinned. “You don't know the _half_ of it.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Optimus returned to the Autobot base, Ratchet had already gotten Bumblebee to at least sit on a med-berth, though the young mech refused to lie down. He'd been anxiously watching the bridge, waiting for Optimus's return, and the Prime noticed his scout relax visibly when he saw his leader stepping through the portal. “Ratchet, Agent Fowler--?”

“Is on his way to the hospital. Luckily,” Ratchet said somewhat dryly as he worked on Bumblebee's wound, clamping fuel lines and neatly mending buckled metal with sure strokes of a micro-welder, “I happen to have a _nurse_ on call.”

Optimus nodded slowly, venting a sigh of relief. The Autobots all stood in defeated silence. In some ways, their situation had just become much less complicated. Half of the moral ambiguities that had faced them moments before had been scythed away when the little mech had escaped. Without Rumble in the base, they could at least trust they were in some way secure, provided he didn't find some way to pinpoint their location. “Rumble is not...” Optimus began, but hesitated, uncertain how to phrase his next words.

“All that sharp?” Arcee supplied helpfully.

“--an expert on infiltration. I do not think, in his weak and desperate state, he was able to determine anything specific about our location. However, we need to be on high alert, and be prepared to relocate should the need arise. If he is to share this information with anyone, it will be the Decepticons' Communications Chief.” The Prime paused to reach up, running his fingers lightly over a single shattered pane on his chest, a visecral reminder of Soundwave's fury. “I think his attention will be primarily occupied with retrieving his final lost symbiont.”

“Speaking of which,” Ratchet said as he finished welding the patch over Bumblebee's wound. He gave it one more critical look before he stood. “What do we do now?”

Optimus did not hesitate. “We must still make every effort to retrieve Frenzy. Rumble's parting words seemed to indicate that he knows more about the location of the Combinatoric than he had previously suggested. He could have been lying, but we cannot afford to assume he was. Furthermore,” he added gravely, “he might very well have brought the weapon to Earth, and if we don't have it...”

“MECH does,” Bulkhead finished. “Scrap. Why is saving the day never easy?”

“We cannot allow MECH to possess such technology, or surrender Frenzy to their cruelty.” Optimus went on.

“If we can't get our hands on the Combinatoric, we _might_ be able to grab Frenzy,” Arcee said. “And if we have Frenzy, we have one heck of a bargaining chip. After what I just saw, I don't doubt that Soundwave would do _anything_ to have him back.”

“But the question is,” Ratchet interjected, “would Megatron allow such an exchange? Soundwave might not be willing to sacrifice his symbiont for the weapon, but I wouldn't put it past his leader.”

“I wouldn't be so sure.” Optimus Prime frowned. Something had been nagging at the back of his mind since the battle, a small detail that had lodged itself in his thoughts, unable to be acknowledged in the heat of combat, but surging to the forefront once that heat had cooled. Something was definitely _off_ in regards to Decepticon command. He remembered very clearly being struck by how differently Soundwave and Megatron had been behaving: the normally-stoic Soundwave consumed by his emotions, and Megatron reigning in his brutality in the place of something colder and more calculating. This contrast had been so very apparent because Megatron had been standing beside Soundwave.

 _Beside_ him. Not in front of him...

Furthermore, Megatron had hesitated for one moment when Soundwave had been struck down, his attention focused completely on his comrade, before he'd rushed in to attack with a furious might that Optimus couldn't rightly say he'd felt in centuries, if at all.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but something _odd_ was going on.

“ _Whaddya mean?”_ Bumblebee beeped, cocking his head.

This snapped Optimus out of his thoughts, and he blinked, giving his head a little shake. “I'm not sure myself, Bumblebee. Still, I wouldn't discount the value Megatron places in Soundwave's wishes, or Soundwave's willingness to do whatever it takes to secure his symbiont.”

“So, we're still going for it?” Arcee asked. When Optimus nodded to her, she straightened. “Right. So, let's review. Once again we have a dangerous mission with a small chance of success, a lot to lose if we hesitate, and to top it all off we're going to be risking our necks for the safety of a 'Con.” She shook her head. “This is shaping up to be one hell of a week.”

 

* * *

 

Megatron had left Blackout and the drones rather abruptly, simply instructing the former gladiator to “stand by” while he left with the squadron to investigate Soundwave's disappearance. The drones seemed to be equally at a loss as of what to do, and when the taller one asked if they should return outside, Blackout shrugged and repeated his Lord's words. “Stand by.”

It seemed as good a plan as any. Blackout stepped up behind the drone at the console and stared at the screens, pensive, but silent. He wore a mask and visor, and as such, his expressions were well hidden from the two Vehicons. “There is a chance we shall be called to our Lord's side as backup,” he eventually said, “are you fueled and prepared to fight?”

The drones exchanged uncertain glances. “I am, sir,” the taller one said, “I'm a soldier. But he isn't.”

Blackout cocked his head towards the smaller Vehicon. “You don't fight?”

“I will, if I need to, sir,” he answered hurriedly. “However, my day-to-day function is head of the maintenance crew.”

Blackout's visor flickered. “Ah.” He sounded less than impressed. In that single syllable, he managed to convey the sentiment that he hoped they would _not_ , in fact, be called in as backup. He turned from the console and strolled the length of the bridge, his rotors giving an occasional twitch. Blackout could be patient when he needed to, but he hated waiting in uncertainty.

The drone at the console relaxed visibly once Blackout had stepped further away. He and his companion stood in silence for a while before he looked over his shoulder and declared, “Steve, I'm beginning to find that the more time I spend in your company, the more trouble I get into.”

Steve shrugged at his companion, Switchgear. “You're the one who wanted to tell Lord Megatron about what went down.”

“I didn't mean _in person_!”

Steve snorted through his vents, and they fell silent once more. Switchgear seemed content to remain at the console, huddling near it as if its proximity would protect him from the fickle wrath of their commanders. Steve was regarding Blackout with curiosity. New faces were few and far between at present, when the war had ravaged their ranks and left them thin. Only time would tell what kind of impact Blackout would have on the army, but so far he seemed surprisingly easygoing, much like Breakdown.

His thoughts were interrupted by Blackout half-turning, cocking his head. The plates on his back began to shift, the armor below his rotor assembly parting and reshaping in a series of endless flashing metal tessellations. Steve froze, bewildered and horrified, while beside him, Switchgear glanced over with interest.

A sinuous form sprung free of Blackout, landing on the ground and scuttling a short distance from his host. Blackout turned the remainder of the way as his recently-released symbiont completed his transformation and gathered his bearings. “The squadron has returned.” He said simply.

Steve hurriedly stepped aside a Scorponok hurriedly scuttled forward, his low-slung form slipping past them and towards the doorway. Switchgear watched Scorponok go with a much calmer air. “Your symbiont seemed excited, sir.” If he was in any way perturbed by what he had seen, he didn't show it.

“Yes,” Blackout said as he lumbered after Scorponok, who was already veering off down the hallway beyond the bridge. “It seems they have returned with company. You are dismissed.” He stepped through the doorway, and was gone, leaving the two drones standing by themselves on the bridge.

For a moment they both just stood there, staring at the empty door. At last, they exchanged glances, and wordlessly shrugged in unison, doing as they were told and making their way for the door. Their week had been pretty weird so far, so what else could they expect but a truly bizarre finale?

 

* * *

 

Soundwave had ground bridged the entire party to the landing pad atop the Nemesis, where they'd quickly dispersed. The uninjured drones were dismissed to resume their duties, all except for the one who had taken up the task of carrying the wounded soldier around. The remainder of the party headed immediately for the medbay, which was soon to be a much more hectic place that the recently-abandoned bridge.

Soundwave had sent Knock Out a series of matter-of-fact bursts as they made their brisk way to the medbay, and as such their medic was somewhat prepared for the sight that greeted him. He had already cleared a medberth, and Breakdown was busy at work preparing a second one. “Well, well, well. Look what the cybercat dragged in,” he drawled, staring down at Rumble. “You know, I wasn't sure I'd heard you right, but it certainly _looks_ like him.”

Rumble sneered up at Knock Out and hefted a single arm, which shifted into a pile-driver. “You lookin' for some _proof_ , Doc?”

Knock Out rolled his eyes and gestured to the clear berth. He knew very well that Rumble wasn't making a genuine threat; imminent grievous bodily harm was just how the little mech's sense of humor worked. Rumble trotted towards the berth, letting his arm shift back into its normal configuration along the way before he swung himself up onto it. Soundwave immediately followed after him.

Knock Out's first concern was stabilizing the wounded Eradicon, who was hauled up onto the spare berth with the help of Breakdown. Rumble sat on the edge of his own and yawned while Soundwave stood nearby, his field filled with an anxious, restless energy. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the reality of it: Rumble was _here_. Rumble was _back_. Every now and then he would tilt his face towards the little mech, as if he expected him to disappear any moment. Every now and then Rumble would look back, sensing the look, and would grin at Soundwave. He wasn't a terribly warm little mech, but he was clearly glad to see his host once again.

Megatron stood apart from the general hubbub. It was very difficult for the heavily-armored warlord to project an air of anything except barely-restrained menace, but he almost seemed awkward standing there. _Almost_.

Soundwave's plating shifted restlessly and he sat down next to Rumble, resisting the urge to pull his symbiont to his side again. Now that they were safe and settled, he had to tackle the problem of establishing a physical connection with Rumble. After such a long separation, a physical connection would not only be a welcome merging of minds with his symbiont, but a necessary synchronization of their bio-rhythms. Laserbeak and Ravage had already been altered to join with his new form, but Rumble's chassis was not compatible with Soundwave's newer frame. He mulled over the problem with Rumble, exchanging quick telepathic bursts with the Minicon, before they settled on using a simple hardline hook-up.

Soundwave unraveled one feeler and hooked it into an input on Rumble's back. They both fell into grateful silence as the connection blazed to life and their consciousnesses reached out to one another, settling into a harmonious whole. The Soundwave's EM field shivered with gratitude as he wrapped his mind around Rumble's, stepping through that final barrier than had kept his symbiont from him for so very, very long. Rumble himself calmed, his optics dimming, letting his ever-present air of restless insolence fade somewhat.

“Is he gonna be okay?” The drone that had carried the wounded Eradicon was watching Breakdown and Knock Out from a respectful distance. She glanced between Breakdown and Knock Out, gesturing vaguely to her helm to indicate comm activity. “His roommate won't stop pinging me asking about him.”

“He'll be fine,” Knock Out replied airily over his shoulder as he turned away, crossing the room once more to begin his preliminary examination of Rumble. The little mech seemed more or less intact, and Soundwave was conducting a very thorough examination of his own, but the doctor would be satisfied when he had his _own_ set of readouts to consult. “Just tell his roommate he has the place to himself for the next few days.”

“Gotcha,” the eradicon replied, flipping a lazy salute. She excused herself, nodding in respectful acknowledgment to the silent presence of Lord Megatron, but as she approached the door, it _wooshed_ open and a low-slung form slithered inside. She hopped out of the way just in time, her wings flickering as she balanced carefully on one foot (“Whoah, s'cuse me!”) before she slipped out the door.

Scorponok made a beeline for Rumble, who had been staring at the floor with a rather unfocused expression. He blinked, giving his head a little shake as the other symbiont drew near, and grinned, optics brightening. “Hey, Scorponok. Long time no see.” Knock Out was beginning to hook Rumble up to various monitors, and regarded the cyberscorpion warily as he scuttled near the medic's feet.

Blackout entered immediately after, crossing his arms as he stepped into the threshold. Soundwave pulled his attention away from his telepathic connection with his symbiont and back to the room around him. The Soundwave regarded Blackout's symbiont with the same inscrutable silence that he seemed to regard everything else. Scorponok began to chatter rapidly at Rumble in a series of beeps and clicks, and the Minicon listened with a slightly-furrowed brow.

“Nah, he's not here. Yeah. Yeah, I know. I do.” Scorponok launched into another series of chittering sounds, and Rumble held up a single hand. Soundwave went very still and suddenly became very intensely interested in what Scorponok had to say. “Look, I'm—okay, I get your point, just cool your circuits for just a second! I just _got_ here. And I've gotta tell everyone else, anyway.”

“He is asking where Frenzy is,” Blackout explained for the benefit of the mechs present who did not understand Scorponok's unique method of speaking (which was more or less everyone except for himself, Rumble, and Soundwave). “They've always gotten along well.”

“Yeah. They both got _drills_ for hands,” Rumble remarked wryly.

“Look, this is all very fascinating, but I need a little _room_ , here,” Knock Out said, nudging Scorponok with one foot. Blackout knelt, silently calling to the cyberscorpion. Scorponok turned and scuttled back to his host, coiling around his feet.

Soundwave leaned forward slightly, his shoulder-guards drawing up tightly, adopting a hunched posture while his mask remained trained on Rumble. The Minicon glanced back, clearly responding to some sort of silent telepathic comm from his host, but at the same time, Megatron finally stepped forward and spoke for the first time since entering the room. His low, grave rasp commanded everyone's immediate attention. “Rumble, do you mean to tell us you have information on Frenzy's whereabouts?”

“Yes and no, Boss,” Rumble replied, leaning to the side to meet Megatron's gaze over Knock Out's shoulder. Rumble referred to both Soundwave and Megatron as “Boss,” a habit that quickly became confusing when both mechs happened to be in the same room. “That's what the Prime was goin' on about. They had me in their base for like...” He paused, face twisting in concentration, and shrugged. “Like a day or somethin'.”

“Hold _still_ ,” Knock Out admonished him. Soundwave obligingly reached out and steadied Rumble with one hand on his shoulder so that the doctor could get to work.

“I've got a lot to tell you, actually. A whole buncha slag happened between now and when we all got separated. Hey,” he perked up suddenly, grinning, “did you offline Thundertron?”

“He fled,” Megatron replied curtly. His expression was stern, and Rumble took the meaning without a single word needing to be said: _focus_.

“Heh, I thought so. Anyway, yeah, Frenzy. Short version of the story is that the Autobots think someone called MECH has him. Long version is really long so I'll save that for later.”

Breakdown had been doing what he could to stay out of the way. The medbay was chaotic as it was between Scorponok's sudden arrival, Knock Out's flurry of medical activity, and Rumble's inability to reign his attention span in long enough for their conversation to settle on a single topic. The mention of MECH drew an immediate reaction from him, though. He straightened, his single eye narrowing. “What?”

Soundwave immediately went tense, his mask trained on Rumble, his field flooding with a mixture of anxiety and anger. His fingers tightened slightly on his symbiont's shoulder.

“Yeah. They were going to try and rescue him or something. They still might,” he continued with a shrug. He looked back to Soundwave, sensing his host's rising alarm, and said, “He ain't awake right now, Boss. I don't think so, anyway—I'd feel it if somethin' were happenin' to him, if he was close enough. Besides, those pods ain't gonna crack for anything but energon, and I don't think MECH uses a lot of energon.” Rumble had yet to explain what he meant by “pods,” but he plunged on regardless of his audience's ability to comprehend the entirety of what he was saying. “But still, they sounded pretty nasty.”

“They are,” Breakdown responded tersely, his fists clenched. “If we're going to pick a fight with MECH, sir,” he said abruptly, looking to Megatron, “Consider me the first volunteer.” He formed a hammer with one hand and smacked the head of it into the opposite palm, making his destructive intentions plain.

Rumble grinned as he glanced to Breakdown. “Man, I _missed_ you guys. But—yeah, so that's where Frenzy is. Uh.” He paused, looking suddenly uncertain, returning his attention to his Lord. “We _are_ going to go and rescue him, right?”

All eyes, medic, symbiont, and otherwise, turned to Megatron. His face was impassive, revealing nothing.

As far as Megatron currently knew, the only prize to be gained from such a venture was Frenzy himself. An infiltration attempt would not only require resources, it would also require manpower, and he had made his stance on rescue attempts abundantly clear earlier when Breakdown had been apprehended. Nobody could be sure he would agree to it, as their Lord had never proven himself to be a fount of mercy in times past.

Nobody could be absolutely sure what Soundwave would do if Megatron said no, either, but it was a safe bet to suspect he wouldn't be sticking around for very long with his symbiont in danger.

Finally, Megatron took a deep breath, and into the silence he said three simple words. “A Bondmate provides.”

Knock Out and Breakdown exchanged glances. Blackout inclined his chin, his mask hiding his expression, but not his approval, while Scorponok made a short, interrogative chirr from the ground. Soundwave straightened slightly on the berth, his mask riveted on Megatron, his spark filled with an emotion he could not quite describe, and Megatron stared directly back at him. The Decepticon leader was not privy to the same level of telepathic intimacy that Soundwave's symbionts were, but they didn't need telepathy to understand the message in the look that passed between them. Rumble just grinned, pumping a fist. “Frag yeah! Let's kick some human skidplates. Or, uh. Whatever they use. And there's more to it than that. See, when we got separated, we found—wait--”

Rumble's optics popped open wide and realization hit his processor like a blow from the hammer of Solus Prime herself. “A _what_ now!?”


	11. Reckless Courses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you guys again for being so wonderfully patient! Maybe one day I'll master to art of updating more than once every... two months or so. Hopefully soon. Anything is possible, right? 
> 
> Squicks in this chapter: none!

**Chapter 10 - Reckless Courses**

 

Needless to say, Rumble was surprised.

His experience on Earth had, thus far, been more or less one long series of confusing and sometimes downright surreal events. But the revelation that his carrier was engaged in courtship with Lord Megatron? Yeah. That one definitely won the top slot on the “unexpected developments” list, as far as he was concerned.

He felt a mental brush through the link and looked back. Soundwave was leaning over him slightly, feeding him a torrent of raw information through their hardlink. Under normal circumstances, Rumble preferred speech to telepathy, but the solid wall of data hitting his processor satiated his curiosity much more quickly that waiting for a spoken explanation.

A rough translation of Soundwave's intent would have read, _Explanation: to be given in detail at a later time, when a discussion of the matter is possible. Situation: mutually desired and highly satisfactory._

Rumble looked between Megatron and Soundwave, his mouth quirked skeptically to one side, his optics narrow under his visor. “Really?”

Soundwave simply nodded.

“ _Really_ really?”

Another patient nod.

Rumble nodded as well, slowly, in unconscious mimic of his carrier. He seemed to give the matter a few more moment's serious thought before an enormous grin split his features. “In that case, way to go, Boss!”

Soundwave gave the faintest of reactions, a very soft snort through his vents. Coming as it did from him, it was a startlingly animated response, but even so, it was too soft for anyone except for those standing closest to him to hear. He wasn't too terribly embarrassed, nor was he in the mood to admonish Rumble for his enthusiasm. After all the symbiont had been through lately, Soundwave felt he was entitled to it.

Blackout remained where he was standing, uncertain whether or not he should leave. He hadn't been dismissed, and Megatron didn't seem to particularly mind his presence, so for the moment, he remained where he stood, doing his best to stay out of Knock Out's way. The medic had finished his preliminary examinations and was examining a handful of datapads with interest.

“Okay, so, since I'm gonna be here for a while _apparently,_ I'll go ahead and giva ya the long version.” Rumble turned his attention to Megatron, whose expression hadn't changed except to cock an eyebrow at Rumble's enthusiastic outburst. The subtlety of the gesture was utterly lost on the smaller mech. “But first thing's first—we got the thing you asked for. Well, we _had_ it. The Combinatoric.”

Scorponok chirred interrogatively, and Rumble launched into an explanation for the sake of the crew members present who had no idea what he was talking about. “You all remember the Star Seekers, right? Buncha losers thought they could take on us? Those guys? Well, for a while it was all fun and games because they were pickin' on the Autobots more than us. Easy targets and all. But then they had to go and make themselves _annoying_.”

The little mech sneered. “Apparently they snagged an artifact from the Autobots and thought that it made them hot shit. Dumb fraggers probably didn't even know what they had, or how to use it. Most of 'em didn't know the first thing about Cybertron, on account of them bein' gone so long. So they try to push us around one too many times, and then the Boss here--” He jerked a thumb at Megatron. “--decides to show them who's _boss_.”

“The raid on Tortuga,” Blackout murmured.

Rumble snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “Bingo. So, you know, we track 'em down, because nobody can hide from the Boss.” Here he paused to gesture to Soundwave. Breakdown glanced between Soundwave and Megatron, already looking somewhat confused. “The soldiers and the heavy-hitters go in to do some... uh, heavy-hittin', and _we_ get sent in to do the delicate work.”

Knock Out tore himself away from his datapads long enough to shoot Rumble a wry and doubtful look as soon as the phrase “delicate work” enter the conversation, but he didn't interrupt the story.

“Soundwave found where they were keepin' it, and we were supposed to get in, get it, and get out. The idea was to do it real fast, because as soon as we started winnin' the fight, we knew they were probably gonna go for the Combinatoric and try to use it on all of us. We-eell... it took longer that we'd planned...”

 

* * *

 

In the bowels of Tortuga, the sounds of battle rumbled through the layers of rock and metal like a roll of distant thunder. Anyone who explored the depths of the base would discover that the construction of the Star Seekers' base had been in the “build as you go” style. Corridors twisted through the asteroid in a dense chaotic jumble, and there was no central hub or even a reliable system of connecting passages to make navigating easy. It could have been intentional on the part of the designers, but more likely it was simply the result of slapdash planning. Either way, it handed the denizens a hefty advantage, as they knew how to navigate their way through the station far, far better than their enemies.

Soundwave had been directing the infiltration team remotely, but layers and layers of stifling rock had weakened their line of communication. “I know we're fraggin _close_ ,” Rumble grumbled, his piledrivers cocking and uncocking in agitation. He was standing at one end of a short corridor, keeping watch. Laserbeak had perched on a nearby terminal and was doing her best to infiltrate Tortuga's databases for anything that would help them refine their search. She sat in silence, utterly still. They had not been accompanied by Ravage on this particular mission.

Frenzy stood at the other end of the hallway, his frame tense, every angle of it suggesting that he was holding himself still through sheer effort of will. Even at his best, Frenzy was a twitchy mech, but the tension of their situation was getting to him. They hadn't been spotted yet, but with every moment that ticked by, the uncertainty that they'd be able to complete the mission unscathed grew deeper. Rumble reached through the bond again, and gave an exasperated sigh when he was met with nothing but interference. 

A distant, muffled clang startled all three symbionts. Frenzy by far jerked the most violently, whirling towards the direction of the sound in a sudden flurry of movement followed by absolute stillness as he stared, hard, down the corridor. “That didn't sound like it was on this level, Frenzy.” Rumble called. The last thing he needed was his brother flying off the handle before any fighting had even begun.

“Are you sure?” Frenzy's voice was softer than Rumble's, with a rasping edge. “It didn't sound that far away to me.”

“Well, it doesn't matter if it was,” Rumble snapped back. “You gonna go running off? Leave Laserbeak to finish this up all alone? We ain't _done_ yet.”

Laserbeak gave her wings a dramatic flick, at the same time sending a silent communicative pulse to both of her siblings.

“Oh, wait, we are?” Rumble blinked at her, and when she signaled her assent by rising, he grinned. “All right, time to get this show on the--”

“Rumble!” All three symbionts turned to see the familiar but highly-unexpected form of Ravage slinking around the corner Rumble had been guarding.

“What the frag are _you_ doing here?”

“Coming to find you,” the cat replied flatly, “Good to see you're not slagged yet. I'm fine, by the way. Thanks for asking. Sneaking through three lines of guards in an unmapped space station isn't _dangerous_ or anything. No big deal.”

“Okay, yeah, good to see you too, Ravage, we're all real impressed,” Rumble said. “But seriously, what are you lookin' for us for?”

“We need to go. The fighting's starting to shift this way. They had a guard making his way down to cargo, but I snuffed him before he could get to you.” That would explain the noise, Rumble thought to himself. “He'll be missed, though.”

“Well, you've got great timin', cause Laserbeak just found where they're keeping the Combinatoric. We can snatch it and go.”

“No.” Ravage shook his head. “Soundwave has ordered us to retreat immediately. If we linger too long we'll be cut off.”

“We're right on top of it, though!”

“The Boss gave his orders. It's more important that we get that intel back to him so that we can launch a focused assault. If we don't, we'll be stranded, and all of this will have been for nothing.” Ravage narrowed his yellow optics, lashing his segmented tail aggressively. “No more arguments. We're going.”

Rumble gave an exasperated sigh, but knew better than to argue with his older teammate. “Okay, okay... lead on.”

Ravage led the way, running swiftly and silently ahead of the group, pausing to check corners and occasionally just to listen, his pointed ear-finials swiveling. Laserbeak traveled between him and the twins, who were bringing up the rear. Rumble himself was annoyed, but resigned. He hated running away from any kind of fight, even a fight that hadn't technically happened yet, and going back to the Boss empty-handed was even worse. Frenzy was silent, his EM field radiating alternating waves of nervousness and annoyance. Rumble tore himself away from his own annoyance long enough to speak to his twin. “Hey, cool your jets, you'll get your chance to tear up some of these pirate clunkers.”

“We should have run into someone by now.” Frenzy's eyes were narrowed, the taut suspicion on his face suggesting a deep distrust for the universe in general.

“Uh, no. Duh, Ravage is leading us. Nobody can get around like Ravage.” He paused and glanced back up the hall, where the feline was crouched, stealthily approaching and peering around a corner. “Don't tell him I said that.”

Frenzy glanced his way and something like a tight half-grin crossed his features, briefly, before Ravage gave a startled yowl and the corridor was filled with gunfire.

 

* * *

 

“So, famous last words and all, we got attacked, and _I bet you can't guess what Frenzy did_.” Rumble paused to take in the collective expressions of his audience. “He freaked out,” he finished, perhaps somewhat less grandly than he'd intended to. “And he was off. He slagged one of em before they even had time to scream. I dunno who was more surprised by it, them or us. The pirates tried to retreat, and I mean _tried_ , cos Frenzy went chasin' right after 'em”

Rumble gave a long-suffering sigh. “Anyway, that aft-for-brains is my twin, so it was up to me to bring him in.”

 

* * *

 

Rumble skidded to a stop, turning and waving Ravage away. “Go! Get back to the Boss before they send backup!”

“Our orders were to retrieve you,” Ravage protested. The battle, if it could even be called that, had been brutally short: a few bolts of laserfire, the vicious high-pitched whirring of drills, and a terrified retreat had left the walls of the corridor scorched and the floor littered with two fresh bodies.

“Gettin' that info back is more important, remember?” Rumble shook his head. “I'm gonna lose him if I don't go now. We'll catch up!” He turned away, but Ravage called one last time for him to wait. Rumble swiveled to face his sibling, annoyed, but before he could ask what he wanted, he felt Ravage ping him with a data packet. It was the location that Laserbeak had uncovered.

“Just in case,” Ravage said before he turned and bounded away. He and Laserbeak didn't focus on sacrificing the speed of their advance for any further attempts at stealth; their presence was known by the enemy, and swiftness was their greatest ally at the moment.

 

* * *

 

“So after I tracked Frenzy down and then _calmed_ him down—I ain't sure which one was harder, really—we try to head towards the rendezvous, but it was a big fraggin' mess by then. So with one thing and another we find ourselves pretty close to where Laserbeak found the Combinatoric was, so we figure, hey, might as well go for it.”

“A reckless course of action,” Blackout rumbled.

“Well, it made the most sense,” Rumble replied. “We knew the Boss was goin' to be coming down after the Combinatoric, so that's the best chance we had to meet up again. And we could guard it until they got there. And if that didn't work, we'd have the Infinite Combinatoric, which we figured would be a heck of an advantage. We could just blast our way back, y'know? So we headed for the storeroom. Never got there, actually...”

 

* * *

 

The Combinatoric was on the move when the twins intercepted it. They skidded to a halt as they rounded one of the many twisting corners in the bowels of the asteroid, coming face-to-face with a pair of equally-startled Star Seekers. The pirates were carrying a medium-sized case between them, and while it certainly wasn't small, it didn't look like it could possibly weigh enough to justify needing two mechs to move it around. For a moment the four Cybertronians sized one another up.

At last, the mech in front—a fellow whose armor was a bristling mass of mismatched plates, all sharp edges and wicked looking spikes—spoke, his voice tinged with amusement. “Y'know,” he rolled his free shoulder in a leisurely and clenched his fist. “I was under the impression that Decepticons were _bigger_.”

His companion gave a snort of agreement. The guards' kneejerk reaction upon coming face-to-face with their admittedly small foes proved to be their undoing, but they could be forgiven for their mistake: it wasn't the first time someone had underestimated what Soundwave's twins could do.

Rumble's immediately brought his arms around, shifting them into pile-drivers as he did, finishing the sequence moments before they completed the arc of motion and struck the ground, _hard_. The guard in the lead stumbled, and the case clattered to the floor between them. The moment of confusion was all Frenzy needed to close the distance.

 

* * *

 

“So after that we grabbed the crate and Boss, lemme tell you, that thing is fraggin' _heavy_. It was ridiculous. We opened the crate and took a look to make sure we had the right thing, and I'm pretty sure we did—looked real, uh...” Rumble's nose wrinkled in thought. “Mystic,” he decided. “Lotsa ancient Cybertronian written all on it. Glowin' bits. Old and stuff. We couldn't get it to work, though, so we closed the case and tried to find you guys again. But by that time, the place was about to blow.”

The Star Seekers had known, by that point, that the battle was lost, and they intended to end it with a bang. There had been no point in sticking around any longer than it took to gather whatever supplies they needed and get themselves out of the blast radius of their station. The loss of Tortuga was certainly a blow, but it wasn't a fatal stroke. They knew the surrounding space well enough to be able to regroup. The Decepticons would not be so lucky, and if they took too long in extricating themselves from Tortuga's labyrinthine and unfamiliar innards, their flagship might be heavily damaged or even destroyed by the station's self-destruct.

Soundwave remembered that moment vividly. As soon as he he had picked up the self-destruct command from the Star Seeker's comm chatter, he had alerted the troops and Lord Megatron, immediately beginning to coordinate their escape. The officers were of highest priority, followed by the Nemesis itself. Any soldiers too far away to get to the flagship in time were instructed to grab whatever vessels they could and go. There would be time to rendezvous with the main Decepticon force later.

He had frantically tried to call his lost symbionts back to him, lingering for as long as he could. In the final moments before he was forced to leave, he had simply stood and waited, his attention wholly fixated on the rock-muffled bond, waiting for any sort of response. The cold dread remained vivid in Soundwave's mind, and merely remembering it sent a searing jolt of visceral distress through him.

Rumble seemed to sense these recollections as they skittered through Soundwave's mind in the Nemesis's medbay. He glanced up to his carrier, his expression wry. “Sorry,” he said simply.

Soundwave gave his head the slightest of shakes. Rumble had survived, and that was all that mattered. Standing on the bridge of the Nemesis and guiding it out of range of the explosion had been one of the hardest things Soundwave had ever done in his life. Even then he hadn't been allowed to be distracted by his grief and distress—he'd been needed to coordinate the escape of the brunt of the Decepticon forces separated from the Nemesis, all of them speeding away from Tortuga on commandeered vessels. He remembered fiercely hoping that one of those vessels would bring his lost symbionts back to him.

The vessels made it to the Nemesis in waves. Each new ship that pinged the Nemesis on the Decepticons' comm frequency was checked thoroughly. Each time, Soundwave hoped, and was disappointed.

The explosion had been truly impressive, washing the Nemesis's vid-screens with vivid blue light. The last few waves of escaping Dceepticons never made it to the ship, meeting their sudden and violent end in the ruined station's blast wave. Soundwave had stared, waiting for the terrible wrenching jolt that would have told him his symbionts were gone.

Somewhat to his confusion, it had never come. In the weeks following the raid on Tortuga, Soundwave had mechanically resumed his duties, letting duty spur him on, never lingering too long on the reality of what he had lost. Most of the crew noticed no difference. Months passed, and still Soundwave waited for a sign, a signal, some sort of closure, and still none came.

That was when the hope began to return, weak but stubborn, lodged itself inexorably in his spark.

Rumble stared up at Soundwave for a moment longer, verbally silent, but communicating with his carrier in silently little half-thoughts, vague sensations of condolence and reassurance that ebbed and flowed between them briefly. At length, Soundwave's spark became as calm as he always outwardly appeared, and Rumble went on with his story.

 

* * *

 

“Shit,” Rumble hissed as he ran alongside Frenzy. They were managing to carry the Combinatoric's case between them, but it was slowing them down. Neither of them had any idea of how long they had before the station's destruction, but neither wanted to wait and find out. Alarm klaxons had started ringing off everywhere: the pirates were no longer concerned with making the self-destruct sequence a secret, so it could only mean their time was running out. “Where the frag are the escape pods?”

“No,” Frenzy interjected. He was much calmer by then, his own lack of control fading almost in relation to the growing bedlam around him. Rumble had long ago noticed that hectic situations worked his brother up into, well, a frenzy, but there was a point where he seemed to break through into some strangely calm region beyond. “The pirates are shooting the escape pods because they think _we're_ on them. The Nemesis is shooting escape pods because they think the _pirates_ are on them.”

“Right, so, the escape pods aren't an option.”

“Nope. Definitely _not_ a good place to be.” Frenzy tugged at the case, directing Rumble to follow his lead. “But this is where they keep all the cargo. Cargo's gotta go in, and it's gotta go out, which means ships.”

“Sounds like a long shot, bro,” Rumble replied doubtfully. He did not, however, slacken his pace.

“Probably the only one we got,” Frenzy replied with a grimace.

 

* * *

 

“So when we get there we find that old hunk-a-junk hauler. Nobody was even trying to use it, and that's probably 'cause, uh... well, it wasn't really fast enough to make good time. We actually _did_ get hit by the explosion, but we were far enough to where it didn't take us out, which,” Rumble added, “was a relief. But a whole lot of our systems were fried...”

 

* * *

 

“Look, I'm tellin' you it's broke. I ain't getting' nothin',” Frenzy said exasperatedly, looking over his shoulder at Rumble. The crawler was a very simple vessel, largely comprised of one large cargo hold, with a small separated bridge and living space. It was clearly meant for only a handful of crew members, but seeing as its current complement consisted of two minicon symbionts and one relatively medium-sized ancient Cybertronian artifact, it still felt quite empty.

Rumble had been peering rather closely over his brother's shoulder, and as such when Frenzy turned to look at him, they nearly knocked their helms together. “Okay, so... what? We can't communicate with anyone?”

“Doesn't look like it,” Frenzy turned back to the console in front of him with a sigh. “This thing isn't fast enough to catch up with the Nemesis. We're gonna lose 'em.”

“They gotta stop sometime. We'll just keep on goin', and we'll catch up.” Rumble shrugged.

“Yeah, but _we_ gotta stop too. We've got hardly any energon here, and we definitely don't have anything to patch us up if we get wrecked. We might eventually catch up with the Nemesis if we just go straight for 'em, and that's a big _might_ , but I don't see how it'll work if we keep havin' to stop ourselves.”

Rumble opened his mouth to reply, but shut it again, sighing to himself (though he didn't notice it, the gesture was performed in an almost-perfect mimicry of his brother). “Okay, so... what now?”

“Well, for now we need to try and get as far as we can,” Frenzy replied, “but we gotta think of a long-term solution. We need energon, and if we can get it, parts to try and fix whatever went wrong with this.”

“D'you know how to fix a broken comm?”

“Nope,” Frenzy replied grimly.

“Great. This is _excellent._ Couldn't have asked for a better plan,” Rumble turned and flopped into the nearest seat.

“You're not blown to smithereens, are you?” Frenzy countered. His brother did not reply, so Frenzy just shook his head and took a deep breath. His EM field was humming with conflicting currents of agitation and curious calm. “Okay. For now, we just keep on keepin' on. But if we don't catch up soon, or contact them, we can try Plan B.”

“What's Plan B?”

“I'll let you know as soon as I think of it.” Frenzy shrugged. “Well, this thing's running on a fusion drive. It won't go fast, but it'll keep us on the move'. We've got _that_ going for us, at least...”

 

* * *

 

“We tried to catch up, too. We tried for _years_. You wanna talk about a reckless course?” Here he paused to look at Blackout. “Trying to catch up with you guys was crazy. _That_ course was something, all right. Anyway, we got close a few times, but nothin' doing. Man, chasin' after you guys was real frustrating, but now that I ain't dealin' with it, thinking back on it, it was pretty interesting. Kind of an adventure, y'know?” he shrugged. “It was the first time we'd been on our own for so long, and we ended up seein' more of the galaxy than either of us planned. Once we get Frenzy back we can tell you guys all about it. Anyway, so eventually we figured reaching you guys wasn't gonna happen, and it was getting harder and harder to find energon.”

“So,” Rumble went on, “we decided to put ourselves into stasis, lock ourselves up in the cargo capsules, and wait it out. We set the crawler to track the Nemesis's ion trail—y'know, simple stuff. The fusion drive would keep it running without us. Our pods didn't work exactly like a _real_ stasis pod, we weren't gettin' refueled or nothin', so Frenzy encrypted the lock only to open up when it was near energon. We figured you'd eventually find us and take all the cargo capsules, and sooner or later someone would let us out.” He frowned. “Except that's kinda what the Autobots did. I guess it took us longer than we expected to catch up... we put out a distress signal, but we didn't get any response. Dunno if that was down too, or if we were just out of range, but slag, maybe it was working if _they_ found us.”

“You must have been out of range,” Blackout interjected, “because I picked up on your signal and followed the ship here. We must have passed very close to one another out there, somehow.” His voice dropped into a gravely admonishing tone. “Your brother's plan was brave, but very risky. You are lucky to be alive.”

Soundwave silently sent an affirmation through the bond.  _He is absolutely right._

“Yeah,” Rumble agreed nonchalantly. “we _are_ lucky. Cause I'm here, ain't I? And... and Frenzy, he's still out there, but as soon as we crack open his pod he'll be okay. He _is_ okay.” For a moment, the little mech looked uncertain. “He's gotta be.”

Soundwave looked down at Rumble, silent and worried. He lowered his head for a moment, but before he could form a reply, Knock Out spoke suddenly into the tense stillness.

“Actually, I'm fairly certain he _is._ ” All eyes immediately turned to the doctor, who was turning to one of the banks of screens on the wall, typing as he spoke. “When I was giving Soundwave his preliminary examination, I noticed fluctuations in the flow of his spark's energy. I thought those were due to instability brought on by a dead bond.” A pair of charts appeared on the screen, and Knock Out stopped typing, stepping back. “I gave him another quick scan while I was looking everyone's favorite walking tectonic disturbance.”

Rumble stared blankly at Knock Out, and he wasn't alone. Breakdown was wearing an expression of similar confusion, and Scorponok made a soft, questioning chirp.

The doctor rolled his eyes. “Rumble.” He indicated the charts. They looked, somewhat appropriately, like two graphs displaying two sound waves of slightly-different frequencies. Knock Out indicated the one on the left. “This is the reading from Soundwave's initial examination.” His fingers followed the steep curves of the wave as it arched up and down across the graph. “And this is from the reading I took just now. The drop in energy is a lot less significant.” The curves of the frequency on the right were significantly less dramatic than the ones on the left. “Soundwave's spark is still not quite as stable as a standard mech's, but it's clear that most of the instability came from sustaining the nigh-dormant bond. That's probably,” he paused to look to Rumble, brow cocked, “why you are still alive. An ordinary mech might not have lasted that long in stasis lock, but you were being sustained. Now that you're up and running, you're putting less of a strain on his spark.”

“Whoa, a strain? Is he gonna be okay?” Rumble asked, suddenly and very keenly alarmed. Soundwave had turned to Knock Out the moment he started speaking, and was now sitting very still.

“Yes, he should be fine. But the remaining instability is almost certainly from maintaining the link with Frenzy.” He turned back to the screens. The doctor was clearly fascinated with what he was seeing—after all, it wasn't every day that one got a chance to examine the mysterious and intricate inner workings of a carrier-symbiont relationship. He was treading on new medical ground. “I'll need to run more tests to be absolutely certain, but it looks good. All you have to do is find him, now.”

Rumble's worried expression was replaced by an immediate, broad grin, wordlessly exchanging glances with Soundwave. They didn't need to speak to convey their mutual enthusiasm. After all, Knock Out had already rather neatly summed It up for them: all they had left to do was find him. The doctor spoke again, and this time they both looked in his direction.

“Once the last symbiont is returned, things should even out.” Knock Out didn't look away from the screens as he spoke. “This could also mean that Soundwave is perfectly capable of producing a sparkling, after all.”

Silence followed on the heels of those words, all-encompassing and deafening.

Rumble blinked and very slowly turned to look up at Soundwave, who smoothly swiveled his face to regard his symbiont at the same time. They stared at one another for a moment before Rumble broke the silence. “Uh... B-Boss?”

Before Soundwave could explain, Megatron finally spoke up once more. “It is clear that Rumble has a great deal of catching up to do,” He pushed away from the wall and strode smoothly forward. He had been content to observe up until that point, but the mere act of walking away from the wall seemed to fill the medbay with the warlord's overwhelming presence. For a moment all attention was immediately funneled towards the powerful and dangerous Decepticon stepping forward; even Knock Out was pulled from his reverie at last. “On a great many topics,” he added, somewhat dryly. “Is he in good health?”

Knock Out nodded. “Yes, my lord,” he added quickly.

“Excellent.” Megatron turned his attention on the two mechs perched on the medical slab, the battered-looking straggler returned at last to the Decepticon army, and his Intended. “Then you are dismissed to your quarters, where you may explain this matter in private. Tonight we will continue our mining operation as normal.” Soundwave straightened slightly, a very subtle movement, but it did not go unnoticed. “Rest, Soundwave,” Megatron added, in a slightly less domineering tone. “Recharge. There is not much more we can do tonight.”

There was a good deal more they could do that night, as a matter of fact. Soundwave could begin immediately sifting through the vast sprawling labyrinths of human networks, scouring them to their lengths for information about MECH, for where they could have possibly taken his lost symbiont and a powerful weapon from Cybertron's mythical past. He could throw out countless surveillance lines, invisible streams of data that would filter staggering amounts of information back to his processor, waiting for a communication from his enemies that might provide a lead. He could return to the crash site and try to track them from there, if he had to.

But he had not recharged since the previous day, and if he began his search then, he would do so under the burden of fatigue, and as such he might make a mistake, or, worse, plunge into the fray unprepared and underpowered. Megatron was right.

The warlord held his stare while all of this ran through Soundwave's mind. Soundwave finally gave a small nod of acknowledgment, conveying the full depth of his understanding in that curt gesture. Megatron returned the nod. “We will discuss our plan of action,” he said, turning to regard the assembled group of mismatched officers, “in the morning.”

 


	12. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this chapter is terribly late, and as always, thank all of you SO MUCH for your continued patience and support! One of the reasons that this next batch took so long was that I wanted to write them in conjunction with one another. So, if all goes according to plan, the next few chapters after this will be released on a weekly basis. If I can keep it up, we'll be rolling that way until the end! This one has a lot of skulduggery, and a LOT of hopping back and forth. I know for a fact the next chapter also has a lot of hopping... but we'll be stabilizing a bit in the chapter after that.
> 
> Squicks in this chapter: None that I can think of!

**Chapter 11 - The Hunt**

As soon as the door hissed shut behind them, Rumble turned to face Soundwave, and asked, “Okay, so, I know I asked you back in the chop shop, but we're alone now and—really? I mean, you're okay with this whole Bonding thing?” There was no disapproval in Rumble's voice. He was clearly just anxious to verify that his creator was committed to the whole affair with no regrets.

Soundwave replied silently and patiently through the bond. _Yes. Proposal: met with enthusiasm._

Rumble gave a sharp nod. “Okay. Won't ask again. Now, uh... now about that sparkling thing...?”

Soundwave moved through the room as he explained, preparing his berth for recharge and activating the wash-racks adjacent to his room. He told Rumble the story in its entirety, from the first proposals pushed by Starscream to the present. His symbiont was particularly amused by the way the Seeker's plan had backfired. “Oh man, I'm gonna look through that footage cos I _need_ to see his face when he found out. Heheh.”

Apart from his obvious interest and amusement, Rumble didn't question his carrier terribly great detail. He was distracted, and so was Soundwave. They were too worried about Frenzy to give the matter proper, focused attention. Rumble simply shrugged, ending the conversation by saying, “Yeah, I'm cool with it. Megatron's the boss and all. You can't really do better than that.”

Soundwave was faintly amused by Rumble's apparently short list of qualifications in a partner. He was not young or naïve, but their lives had not exactly lent itself to any deal of experience in matters of calm domesticity. Compatibility on the battlefield was one thing, and compatibility during downtime was another. Even so, that was a conversation for another time. Wordlessly, he directed Rumble to the wash-racks.

“You don't gotta tell _me_ twice,” Rumble slouched towards the doorway. Through it, the sound of running water could already be heard. “I ain't had a shower in... damn, hundreds of years. I was gonna say hundreds of years anyway, but it's actually kinda true.” He vented deeply, looking back at Soundwave as he paused in the doorway. He looked vaguely pensive. “Boss, you know the odds better'n I do. We can do this, right? I mean, this is all real different from when I was with you last. Almost everyone is _gone_.”

 _We are few,_ the spymaster agreed, _but those that remain are here because they are the strongest._ He didn't blame his symbiont for being a bit startled by how thin the Decepticon forces had become. The Autobots weren't faring much better, either, and that was some small comfort.

“Yeah. Makes sense.” Rumble paused for a moment in the doorway, but apparently could think of nothing more to say. He just gave another shrug and stepped inside.

* * *

 

The first step towards reclaiming his lost symbiont was information-gathering. Though it was vital, it was also the most tedious part of the plan. Soundwave knew that each new discovery would mean progress. Knowledge was a potent weapon, perhaps the most potent of all, and typically Soundwave was willing to be patient when it came this phase of any operation, but he was understandably anxious.

MECH was a ruthlessly efficient organization, but they weren't exactly prepared for an electronic attack of this magnitude. Soundwave was an infiltration specialist with millions of years of experience under his belt, and MECH's most senior technicians were, by comparison, upstarts at best. The problem was not that delving into their systems was difficult. To their rivals, MECH's technological advantage was one of the greatest challenges to overcome. They were on the cutting edge of Earth tech, and making concentrated efforts at going a step further. To Soundwave, this wealth of technology was just a weakness to be exploited. Their security systems and extensive databases were just an unlocked door, waiting to be opened. The primary difficulty lay in the sheer _amount_ of data he had to sift through.

He wasted no time getting started.

* * *

 

Of course, he wasn't the only one hunting this particular prey, and for once, the Autobots had the advantage.

"We'll back you all the way." Fowler had returned to the base a few short hours after having been discharged from the hospital. His arm was in a sling, but his obvious injury did nothing to dampen his omnipresent air of irritable determination. "Frankly, I've been pushing for an active investigation on MECH for a while."

In some ways, their cooperation with Earth intelligence forces limited the Autobots. They had more rules to adhere to than their foes, more limits placed on their movement and activity. There were rare instances, however, when their alliance had something extra to offer them. Once the full weight of what had happened in Nicaragua and the aftermath of the excursion had been explained to Fowler and his superiors, a variety of American intelligence agencies (and other clandestine organizations within the government) had offered their resources to aid the search. As Fowler had said, MECH had aways been a threat, but MECH in possession of alien technology and an artifact of vague but significant power was a ticking time bomb. The recent attack on Fort Campbell was also a useful persuading factor. Earth intelligence agencies had more experience with MECH's activities than the Autobots, and their collective stockpiled information gave the Autobots a few good starting points.

"I've got a few favors I could call in from agents in the field, if it comes to it," Fowler went on, "Once we find out where they're keeping this thing, I need you to let me know if we've got an evac situation of nearby towns or cities on our hands. You said this combo-thing is a weapon? What exactly does it _do_?”

"In all likelihood, yes, the Combinatoric is a weapon," Ratchet replied, not looking up from the bank of data screens at his work station. "The Covenant is somewhat a vague on its abilities, but its versatility is mentioned many times. It isn't that the Combinatoric is devastating that distinguishes it--it's that it's _adaptable_."

"Crap. That's all we need. MECH with a super-weapon is bad enough, but MECH with a super-weapon that can change into a _whole slew_ of different ones is worse." He paused. “Wait, didn't you say you used to have it? What exactly did it do then?

Optimus cut in, shaking his head. "I am afraid it did not do much of anything. You see..."

* * *

 

"What do you mean, 'it doesn't work?'" Starscream asked, cocking a doubtful brow.

Soundwave had a very personal stake in this mission, but Starscream was still second-in-command, and as such, his involvement in the preparations was extensive. Since he would most likely be leading a strike force in the final confrontation, he was gathering as much information on the Combinatoric's capabilities. After all, he knew the odds were high that he would find himself in its crosshairs. The assistance of a mech more well-versed in mythology and archaeology would have been ideal.

Instead, he got Rumble. Of all the Decepticons on board, he had the most experience in dealing with the artifact. For now, the little mech was their only consultant on the matter of the Combinatoric.

"Are you telling me it is _broken_?" Starscream asked.

"Nah, I'm pretty sure it's just cos we didn't do something. Frenzy fiddled with it a little bit, but I think there's like... I dunno, something special you gotta do to get it to open up." He shrugged again. "Some kind of song-and-dance' y'know. Mystic mumbo jumbo. It was all covered in writing. Old-lookin Cybertronian."

Only a few blurry images of the Combinatoric remained in the Decepticons' database, and these had been scrounged up from security footage salvaged from Tortuga. The glyphs themselves had been pulled from Rumble's own personal memory banks. These were clearer, but imperfect, as Rumble had imperfect memory.

Starscream peered at the screen. "This is Ancient Cybertronian."

"Yeah, like I said," Rumble went on, somewhat exasperatedly, "Old Cybertronian."

Starscream regarded him with wry disdain. "The is a difference," he said, "between _Old_ Cybertronian and _Ancient_ Cybertronian. Old Cybertronian is simply an archaic form of our own language. Ancient Cybertronian is a wholly different glyph system."

"So whose bright idea was it to call them both Cybertronian? Why not just call that other language something, like... I dunno, Archaic Glyphs or whatever." He paused to regard Starscream. "Since when did you get to be such an egghead, anyway?"

"I have always been an 'egghead' as you so _charmingly_ put it," Starscream replied in a tone of voice that suggested that this particular definition of "charming" was synonymous with "extremely annoying." The Seeker snorted. "I'm not surprised you've never noticed. It wouldn't be the first time I have gone unappreciated. But we're getting off track."

"Yeah, okay. So, Mister Hot Shot Language Expert, what's it say?"

"I don't know. I don't speak Ancient Cybertronian." Starscream's eyes narrowed. "I can only readily name two mechs who I know speak it. Makeshift was one of them."

"So," Rumble asked, "Who's the second?"

* * *

 

"Ancient Cybertronian is a dead language, but it is something you can expect to encounter often when you are a keeper of the archives," Optimus explained, "However, being able to read the language is one matter, but successfully interpreting their message is another. The glyphs written on the Combinatoric were cryptic, but this is hardly surprising. Amalgamous Prime, its wielder, was the most duplicitous of the Thirteen."

Fowler blinked slowly. "O...kay. So, this message on the outside, it's a riddle?"

"Something like that."

* * *

 

"This could still work out in our favor, though...” Starscream mused. “If we have a hard time getting it to function, the humans will have it even worse."

“Yeah... we definitely need to figure out how to get it to work, but we can worry about that _after_ we got it." And Frenzy, he adds silently to himself. "So, who're you gonna take with you?"

"That depends. I'll need to hand pick soldiers for this particular mission. And to build a good strategy, you need one very vital component that we happen to be missing."

"What's that?''

* * *

 

"Location. It's going to be tricky." Fowler shook his head. "A few days ago, their strike force was in Nicaragua, but by now they could be anywhere. If we'd caught em in the first few days, we'd have a smaller search radius, but now..." It was true. MECH was a highly mobile and organized force. Nobody knew how extensive their network was within the United States, but they'd hit targets that were far enough apart to suggest it was considerable. "Looks like we've got a heck of a search on our hands. I say we start looking in the southern regions. If their first priority was storage, they'd probably have it holed up there. Also, check and see if you can get any info out of the vehicles they were driving. I don't expect to find a plate or anything, but it's worth a shot."

The autobots tracked them over the land. There was little they could do to investigate possible pit stops in South America, but they were able to track their most likely progress by land. Between maps of major highways and federal investigative reports of MECH's last known incursions, they gave themselves a starting point.

* * *

 

Soundwave stalked them through waves and waves of data. There were many, many possible ways to pick up their scent, but it would be simplest to begin with Nicaragua, their last known location. The crash site has been rather remote, and their tracks indicated a flight to the north, so Soundwave began to comb the nearby cities for data. He had been a spy long before the war began, and there was one universal rule that applied towards any search that hoped to reveal incriminating evidence: follow the money. He began with the nearest fuel depots. Such a substantial force of ground vehicles would need to fill up after such a drive from the heart of the plains.

He sifted through countless transactions, tracing each back to its source. The vast majority of them were personal accounts, and there were a handful of businesses here and there. They had likely paid for their food and fuel with physical currency... but physical currency had to be withdrawn. He began again, easily bypassing the flimsy security measures local banks had used to protect their records.

Thousands of transactions were processed and chased down to their sources. At his terminal, Soundwave stood absolutely still, wholly focused on his task. He worked tirelessly, drawing from a seemingly endless supply of patience. He didn't uncover a promising lead until the second day. A series of small, scattered transactions had been made from a specific business account. It didn't take long for Soundwave to figure out that this "business" was a front, and as he dug deeper he linked several other accounts to the root company. It seemed a wide variety of agents had been drawing from this single stockpile of funds. Sloppy.

He searched for the most frequent transactions. There were only two, but they were stateside, near the Texas border. Delving into border control records helped him narrow down the likeliest time these mystery people would have passed through. All it took was a quick dip into surveillance footage and... bingo. Efforts had been made to disguise the vehicles, but the distinct body type was unmistakable.

One step forward.

* * *

 

The Auotbots' first great success came after a full day of searching and more than a few false starts.

"Looks like somebody was in a hurry," Arcee said, cocking a brow.

They'd managed to dredge up a blurry photograph taken by a traffic camera late at night. Someone in a MECH vehicle had run a red light. It wasn't a windfall, by any means. Still, they at least had a general location for this sighting.

"Ar-Kansas,  heading north," Ratchet said.

There was a brief interlude while Fowler explained the proper pronunciation of the word "Arkansas," during which time, a handful of road maps were pulled up to plot possible courses. "No major cities that far north. Looks like they were just passing trough." He paused a moment, pulling up the scant info they'd gotten from studying the make of the cars. "Wait--that's an off-roader. The original model for those runs on diesel."

Like Soundwave, the Autobots turned their attention to the lifelines of the highway, the gas stations. There were a predicted many transactions for diesel fuel on the main highways and at truck stops, but one singular instance at a relatively remote station up north.

A few phone calls and an hour later, they had security feed from the exterior. There, in stark black and white, sat their target.

"There's nothing at the end of the road he's heading down. Nothing official, anyway." Fowler frowned. "Just a cul-de-sac." He was silent for a moment. North Arkansas... "Let's get satellite of that road.

As Fowler had stated, the road didn't lead to any important cities or even civilization in general. It simply led to the base of a bluff, across which a scattering of ancient, dilapidated buildings and the rusting skeletons of indistinct, vast machines could be seen. The buildings themselves didn't look habitable. They slouched their way up the slope of the bluff, all rotting timber and peeling brick-red paint.

"What are we looking at? A battlefield?" Arcee squinted at the scene.

"An abandoned mine. You see a lot of those in that area." Fowler's eyes narrowed. "It sounds like MECH's style, all right."

The decision was made to keep a live satellite feed on the site. They honestly needed better confirmation before they made an attempt to infiltrate, but everyone who stared at that screen had the same thought running through their mind.

End of the road.

* * *

 

The stateside transaction gave Soundwave the confirmation he'd needed to move forward. He began investigating the activities of each business front they used, sifting through logs of each undertaking that had been made in their name. Some of them had physical headquarters, and he plundered the databases inside for as much information as he could. MECH kept its activities relatively secret, even between units, but all Soundwave needed was a date, a location mentioned offhand, or the seemingly-innocent record of a "client's" address.

The first stronghold he found was in Kentucky. Unlike the other fronts, this one had an insulated and cloistered network... not that such measures did them any good. If a computer was _on_ , it was as good as an open door to Soundwave. A new glut of information flooded forth, ready to be sifted through. Before he could dive in, though, Soundwave was forced to stop that night. Rumble had arrived at his workstation and reminded him that he, too, required a nightly recharge.

The next day was full of more tedious work, but the knot was unraveling rapidly. Another base was discovered on the Florida coast, and he silently logged the information away. Soundwave was able to pin down the private manufacturer that altered the brunt of their vehicles. He acquired names. All of this was useful in its own right and certainly would be properly (and destructively) addressed later, but he had one thing on his mind, and that was looking for new cargo. MECH kept careful records of their findings. Something as important as alien salvage would be noted in some manifest.

It wasn't until early afternoon, when he followed the paper trail left by the Prescott Historical Society, that he made any progress. They'd purchased land in Northern Arkansas, the site of an abandoned human mine. Soundwave gave the site a cursory scan. The entire mountainside was lit up like a beacon, a dense swirling nexus of self-contained data. Within moments he was inside, and finally, finally he found the words he'd been searching for. _Package obtained from Site UB-23 (Nicaraguan Incursion, see attached report). Secure, awaiting further instructions._

The report had been filed only a few days prior. Exactly what they'd recovered could have been anything--the Combinatoric, a sample of the ship's hull... or it could be Frenzy. Either way, one thing was clear. This was where his search had led him, and this was where the first attack would be.

End of the road.

* * *

 

At three A.M. the Autobots received the call. Their surveillance team had spotted a MECH vehicle approaching the site, and they were given the official go-ahead. There was a bit of a fuss about human involvement, as the American government was keen to see this job done to their standards, and Optimus was equally keen to keep them out of it.

"We know for a fact that the Decepticons are looking for the same thing we are. The risk of encountering them is far too high," Optimus had argued. In the end, the powers that be agreed with him. Potential casualties were too great.

"Be careful out there," Fowler warned them as he finally left the Autobots' base. "If the Cons do show up, you'll be caught between fighting them and MECH." He sighed. "The odds aren't with you guys on this one."

Arcee offered him a wry smile. "Let's be honest," she said, "when are they ever?"

* * *

 

Soundwave delivered the location of their first lead almost immediately, meeting his commanders at the bridge. “Excellent.” Starscream said. “See to it that any relevant schematics are sent to me. We will be able to move in by morning.”

Soundwave looked to him. He didn't have to speak to convey his impatience. They _could_ go there immediately, and be done with it.

Megatron was the first to notice, glancing towards him, but Starscream was the first to speak. “I'll still need time to assemble the most efficient task force. Besides, an attack by night has it advantages, but the humans are wary at night. They put their guard up. Dawn... dawn is another matter entirely.”

Soundwave couldn't argue the logic of carefully choosing their team. Their primary objective was success, and arriving in a hurry would do them no good if they were forced to beat a retreat. This base was entrenched in the side of a mountain, and simply annihilating it from the air was not an option. He gave a barely-perceptible nod.

Megatron had glanced towards Starscream during this time, his expression unreadable. He hadn't been around for his second-in-command's stint as leader, and certainly wasn't used to seeing Starscream so focused. Starscream wasn't even looking at his Lord. He was plotting, wrapped up in the machinations of his own mind. Megatron raised his voice finally, his grave tones commanding the absolute attention of all present. “Our enemy has placed itself in a mine. Luckily, we are uniquely equipped for such circumstances. See to it that we've removed all of our equipment from this site before nightfall, and we will begin moving north.”

With that, they were dismissed. Starscream walked off with his wings hiked high and a single claw tapping contemplatively at his cheek. Soundwave turned, his frame sagging slightly from fatigue and from simple disappointment, and left without a further word.

Megatron watched him go.

* * *

 

When Starscream returned to his quarters for the evening, he already had the beginnings of a plan. From the information he'd been given, the tunnels that wound through the mountain—which had been reinforced and widened after MECH had taken up residence--were large enough to send troopers through. Drilling up into them would be the fastest way inside, but it would also be very distinctly _noticeable_. They would need a distraction, or an advance force sent in somehow to try and secure and defend the package beforehand. Maybe they would need both.

He noticed the drone carrying his cube of energon entering his room, but didn't really process the information. Drones and their movements were so much a part of the background that it was easy to forget they were there. The trooper was left awkwardly standing by while Starscream continued to stare intently at his datapad for a full five minutes. Finally, the Vehicon coughed discreetly through his vents, and at last Starscream acknowledged him. “Ah. Yes.” He took the cube and held it in one hand, making no move to drink it.

A sudden thought occurred to Starscream, jarring him from his machinations. He looked over. “You're... _him_ , aren't you?”

“Steve? Yeah. Still me,” the drone answered with a half-shrug. He didn't seem quite as nervous as he'd been the first time they'd met in this room.

The Seeker nodded and looked back to his datapad. He probably _should_ just tell this fellow to leave. He didn't, though. Maybe it was the way he'd proven himself useful in the past, or maybe it was simply because interacting with him had made Starscream aware of a new perspective he hadn't considered before. “You know the ranks better than I do on a personal level. I need good fliers. Who would you count among the best?”

Steve tilted his head, considering. “626 is pretty good. You mean, like, evasive flying, or pursuers...?”

“Evasive. I need them to create a prolonged distraction.”

“Hmm. I couldn't name anyone off the top of my head, but did you try the yearly dossier report?” When Starscream looked to him, nonplussed, Steve went on. “You know, after each cycle, we send in updates for our dossiers. Who we are, what we're rated for, what new skills we might have learned. It's used for assignments.”

“Ah. _Soundwave's_ work.” That would explain why Starscream wasn't familiar with it. He was aware that tabs of this nature were kept, but didn't know the particulars. The drones were by and large very replaceable, and not really designed to improve, and Starscream had operated with these contingencies in mind for a very, very long time. “Show me.”

Steve leaned over and pulled up the database, tapping the screen over Starscream's shoulder until he'd pulled up the reports. They started with a drone he knew, and before long they were hopping back and forth across various cross-indexes, sifting through names and numbers. Both mechs were both soon lost in the task, each individual momentarily forgetting just _who_ they were talking to, and spoke long into the night.

* * *

 

Rumble took the news of the plan in stride. “Sounds good. We're comin' along pretty quick. Can't _wait_ to get my hands on these guys.” He grinned. “Did Lord Megatron say anythin' else before you left?”

Soundwave had been running on automatic since he got back, wordlessly relaying the information to Rumble in silent bursts of data. Something in the little mech's expectant tone jarred him out of his fugue. Soundwave realized that he hadn't said a single thing to Megatron. He'd been understandably absorbed in his work for the past few days, but back during the final brief, he'd just turned and walked away as if things were... well,the way they were before. He'd unwittingly subjected Megatron to the same treatment he'd received at the beginning of their courtship.

Primus, he was _not_ good at this.

“Y'know, I think under the circumstances, he probably won't blow a gasket,” Rumble chimed in. He'd been silently following the mental train of thought as it had wound through Soundwave's head. “But if you feel like you gotta say something, then go do it."

Silently, Soundwave expressed a vague reluctance to leave his symbionts.

“Boss, it's fine. We can finish getting' caught up when we nab Frenzy. We're all _grown_. We can handle it if you need to go talk to the mech who's trying to get ya _Bonded_ ,” the minicon sighed in exasperation. “I know this is important to you. I can tell.” He smiled wryly and tapped the side of his helm. “I'd be able to tell even without us bein' on the same frequency.”

Soundwave still hesitated, and without prompting from him, Laserbeak and Ravage sprang free. “ _Go_ ,” the cybercat said, strolling around his creator and hopping up onto the berth. “It might not have occurred to you, yet, but we're just as eager to see this potential union of yours go smoothly.”

The spymaster hadn't considered that. He looked between the three of his symbionts, considering, for the first time, that their acceptance of the situation extended beyond mere approval. For reasons of their own, they wanted this union to succeed. The closest Soundwave could determine from their collective thoughts was a sense of rightness, of anticipation for something long-awaited: _this will be good for you, and you have earned it._

Soundwave nodded, relenting at last. He _was_ outnumbered, after all.

All three of his symbionts were quiet for a few long moments after he'd left. Laserbeak was the first to speak up, releasing a series of low, interrogative beeps into the silence. Rumble glanced over to her. “Yeah, he'll be okay. You know how he is.”

“Lord Megatron is his rock,” Ravage stated simply.

“Yeah. That's _one_ thing that stays the same, anyway.” Rumble snorted. Soundwave's unwavering loyalty was simply, to him, an ineffable aspect of the universe. Things had more or less always been that way. None of them were expecting Soundwave to be comforted on his visit, but they did know that he would likely return more grounded, more focused. Somewhat amusingly, neither Soundwave nor Megatron seemed to have caught onto that particular nuance of their relationship yet. They both knew they worked well together, but the symbionts suspected that neither mech was aware of how much of a fixed point they were to each other's lives. As this observation flickered through them anew in the room, Laserbeak offered a simple conclusion through their shared bond.

 _Some things are easier detect from the outside looking in._ Rumble and Ravage both agreed. If anyone was qualified to speak on the subject of surveillance, it was Laserbeak.

* * *

 

Megatron was seated when Soundwave stepped into the room. When his Intended had come to his door, requesting entry, Megatron had remotely keyed it to open without moving from his spot, and as Soundwave drew nearer, he could see why. The warlord was performing basic maintenance on his fusion cannon. The more delicate aspects of weapons repair, he left to the experts, but he could be trusted as far as cleaning the heating coils and checking the brunt of the moving parts for damage. Lord Megatron was no techie, but he wasn't stupid, either.

He didn't immediately wave off Soundwave's apology, and for that, Soundwave was grateful. Seeing Megatron pause to give the matter due consideration made his apology feel like it was genuinely received. “I am aware of the importance of recovering your lost symbiont. This means much to you.”

Soundwave waited for a moment, but that seemed to be the sum of Megatron's response. He paused for a moment, unsure how to proceed, but settled with, _Megatron's patience: appreciated._

There was a soft rasp of metal-on-metal as Megatron drew the outer casing of the cannon closed. He stood and turned his full attention to Soundwave. “It isn't patience, Soundwave. Not exactly.” Humor flickered through his eyes and he stepped forward, drawing up directly in front of his Intended. “It is more like... assurance.”

Soundwave held himself utterly still, the blank mask of his face riveted on by the weight of Megatron's stare. The atmosphere in the room had shifted suddenly and wholly in a matter of mere moments. His spark thudded in its chamber.

A wicked claw hooked under Soundwave's chin-guard with startling gentleness and tipped his face up. “If there is one thing this long war has taught me,” he rumbled, “it is that you will always come back to me.” The statement, delivered by any other mech, might have sounded tender. It might have sounded like a gentle reassurance, an expression of trust. The words had rolled from Megatron's vocalizer in an almost possessive fashion.

Soundwave didn't disapprove—far from it—but he still felt he needed to convey the simple notion, _Megatron: highly presumptuous._ The mental burst was under-laid with the slightest hint of humor.

“Am I wrong?” Megatron asked simply.

Very carefully, Soundwave shook his head.

This prompted a low laugh from the warlord. “I didn't think so.”

Megatron and Soundwave had lived for so long as allies that Soundwave didn't really need to prove his loyalty any longer. They'd had a somewhat bumpy beginning to the entire affair of their courtship. They'd had false starts, misunderstandings, and distractions, but they'd finally entered a common wavelength, only to find that some aspects of this harmony were old, tempered between them by countless years of war. In a way, this courtship had begun long ago, before either Megatron or Soundwave had been aware of it.

Soundwave was still quite worried about the mission before them, and the potential disasters that could spring up while they tried to recover Frenzy. Even so, he was doing this, as he had done most things in his life, under Megatron's banner, and they _would_ succeed. Looking up into the scarred face of the fierce mech over him, Soundwave couldn't imagine anything coming between Megatron and victory.

He had come here to make an apology, but he felt curiously _stronger_ , in a way he couldn't quite describe. 

“Get some rest,” Megatron finally said, stepping back. “Be ready, when the morning comes.”

Soundwave nodded silently and turned, with no small degree of reluctance, from Megatron. He had made it to the threshold when Megatron called his name, and Soundwave looked back over his shoulder. The warlord's eyes had narrowed slightly. “I will bring him to you.”

Staring back at that mech, bristling with aggression and authority, Soundwave didn't doubt him for an instant. He simply nodded, a slow, decisive gesture, before the two of them turned from one another and parted ways once more.

 


	13. Fire on the Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously my plan of releasing weekly updates didn't exactly pan out, but we're still chugging along. As always, I will attempt to get to this in a speedier fashion, but, uh... well. You know the drill by now. As always, thanks so much for your continued patience, interest, and support! 
> 
> The MECH base's structure is loosely based on the abandoned Kennecott Mine in Alaska, if you'd like a visual to go with this chapter. Squicks: None that I can think of, but a bit of violence is present.

**Chapter 12 - Fire on the Mountain**

 

The first thought that passed through the mind of operative known simply, to his companions, as Watts, was, _I really, really hate the morning shift._ The sun wasn't even up yet, and here he was, sitting at a desk in the middle of absolutely nowhere, peering myopically at a computer screen and absently rubbing his knuckles against his cheek. _I need a shave,_ was his second big revelation of the day. He drew in a deep sigh, but before the sound could trail completely off a sharp rapping from behind him nearly startled Watts out of his seat.

He turned in his chair. One of his compatriots was leaning in the doorway. “Jesus, Abel, it's way too early for that.”

“I wasn't _trying_ to scare you.”

“Yeah, well...” Watts frowned. He, like the rest of the operatives scattered throughout the base, was dressed in his MECH uniform right up to where it met his neck. “Why do you have your mask on?”

“Didn't you hear? The big guy himself is coming in today. Something to do with that thing they dragged out of Nicaragua.” Abel sounded remarkably amused for someone who hadn't been trying to scare his co-worker. “No official word on when he'll be in. They're keeping it hush-hush to us lackeys. So, we're minding out p's and q's until he shows up.”

MECH was an organization that was, at times, mysterious even to its members. The names Watts and Abel went by weren't their real ones, of course, and some agents were so cagey that they refused to ever show their faces. Neither of them knew exactly what they'd been brought from their agents in the field, but if Silas _himself_ was coming to the compound... “Well, crap. Would've been nice to know this yesterday.”

“You know how they are. C'mon, man, we finally caught a break! We're loaded down with _mysterious alien technology._ If this goes well, maybe there'll be raises all around. So, look alive, Watts! We've got a big day ahead of us.” Abel gave a double thumbs-up.

Watts scowled over his shoulder at the other man. “How the hell are you so chipper this early in the morning?”

“Coffee, my friend.” Abel turned on his heel. “There's some in the break room, if you need it!” He called over his shoulders.

Watts sighed and looked back to his screen. The Nicaraguan haul had only been half-processed. While some of the items had been inspected, categorized, labeled, and tucked securely away, the rest of them were still in temporary storage. Mysterious alien technology, locked in what amounted to a glorified garage in the ground. He didn't know if he should rush to finish the job or unpack everything that had already been dealt with.

In the end, he decided to do neither, and left for the break room, and a low-tech solution to a low-tech problem. The coffee was waiting.

* * *

The site of the former mine was nestled in the curve of a ridge of low mountains and hills, all of which were heavily forested. That bit of luck was why the Autobots had managed to get this close undetected.

Arcee and Bumblebee were the first to scout the area. They'd split up, approaching the site from either side, maintaining radio contact and keeping as silent as possible. Arcee was privately worried about her companion. Bumblebee was game for the fight to come, but she had been able to tell, before they left, that he'd been in pain. Ratchet had mended his injury quite well, but he wasn't fully healed yet.

Unfortunately, they couldn't spare him for this mission. They couldn't spare _anyone_. So much of the MECH base was nestled _inside_ the bluff that it had been built upon. If the humans retreated deeply enough, they'd be effectively out of reach. Their only hope was to hit hard, hit fast, and try to reach the package before their enemies had a chance to move it. That meant an all-out attack from the very beginning.

Arcee and Bumblebee would hold themselves in reserve, waiting until the frontal assault had hammered their foe into a disarray before moving in to flank. Looking down at the complex, Arcee had to admit the abandoned site looked more like a small town than a mine. How many of those buildings had been artificially weathered, and held possible enemies and munitions? How many ways could a human use those little pathways and alleyways between the buildings to outmaneuver a foe who was unfamiliar with the territory?

Only time would tell.

 _It's almost time,_ Arcee commed her companion, _be ready to move on my mark._ After a pause, she added, _Let's just hope they take the strike force seriously enough to give us an opening._

Bumblebee's reply was quick to come. _They're going to have to take it seriously. After all, we called_ _ **him**_ _in._

Arcee allowed herself a tight little smile. _You've got a point._ With a silent signal, she made her way through the woods, moving slowly and in counterpoint to her unseen ally.

* * *

While one side of the bluffs faced housed the buildings and faces the main road, the other was open only to the wilderness: rolling hills thick with old-growth forest. This side of the mountain was riven through with tunnels that had once been a part of the mine. Some of these had been fortified by MECH, and others, deemed too hazardous, had been blocked off from the main facility. These unused tunnels didn't connect to any that were still in use. They had been sealed up with concrete and rubble, and were furthermore structurally dangerous enough in their own right to discourage any human being from venturing down them.

Even keeping their newest foes in mind, the tunnels were nigh-impenetrable. They were far too small for any Cybertronians—or at least, so MECH thought. As it so happened, unstable sealed-off tunnels were not so much a deterrent as they were a shortcut to a small mech with a pair of blindingly fast drills.

Scorponok and Rumble were the first to infiltrate. Starscream had dropped that little tidbit of information on Soundwave just hours before they moved out for the strike. Soundwave had been none too enthusiastic to learn that the symbiont he'd only recently reclaimed would be operating far away from him on this dangerous mission, but Rumble had been quick to reassure him. “C'mon, Boss,” he'd said, “You know I can handle this. Someone's gotta get in there, right?”

Scorponok had offered his support by demonstrating, with his drills, what would happen to any enemy unfortunate enough to stumble upon their two-man infiltration team. That had apparently been of some comfort to Rumble's host.

With a terrible grinding noise and the sound of falling rocks, Scorponok broke through into one of the main tunnels. Both mechs hesitated for a moment, waiting to see if the noise had drawn any attention. After a few moments, it was obvious that nobody was coming, so Scorponok led the way, slithering through the hole while Rumble followed after him.

He narrowed his eyes as he glanced both ways down the tunnel. Their first task was to see if they could secure a spot for a land bridge, if possible. So far, none of the tunnels were looking promising. “Why'd they hafta fraggin'... be so _small_?” he muttered as he proceeded towards the interior of the mountain.

Scorponok did not deign to reply. Instead, he scuttled down the hall, pausing only briefly to let Rumble catch up.

“Yeah, I'm comin', I'm comin.'” Rumble checked to make sure his signal to the flight squad was still secure. Communicating through so much rock was difficult, but luckily he could piggyback comm signals off the various electronics that MECH had stuffed the mountain with. “You reading me, airheads?”

Starscream's reply was a wordless affirmative ping.

* * *

A fair amount of activity was going on above ground. MECH personnel were moving equipment about and taking care of other small tasks that needed to be done by the time Silas arrived. When the sound of a car engine greeted them, a few of them jerked themselves away from their tasks, immediately looking to the road that wound its way through the forest to the drive below. It was far too early for Silas to have arrived, and the first thought on their minds was that this was a deliberate attempt by their commander to catch them off-guard.

They were half-right. The vehicle that drove up was not one of the familiar MECH models, nor was it of the discreet unmarked black variety that their higher-ups often used when they wanted to travel unnoticed. Watts, holding a mug of coffee and leaning out of the doorway of his office—which had been built inside of a modified shed—whistled as the vehicle coasted to a smooth stop in the curve of the drive. “ _That_ is a slick car. I wonder where the hell Silas got it?”

Abel's reply was a little less impressed, and a little more nervous. “I don't think that's Silas's car. We don't have anything like... uh, like... what kind of car even _is_ that?”

“That?” Watts hummed thoughtfully. “Italian, definitely. Hmm... I might be wrong, but I _think_ it's a Lancia...”

* * *

A dull rumbling suddenly pervaded the air and the ground trembled underneath Rumble's feet. “I swear to—hey!” He barked harshly over the comm, “you guys were supposed to _wait for my signal_ to start blowin' this place up!”

One of the aerial drones immediately replied, “That wasn't us! We've got company!”

Rumble scowled. “Well, that's just fraggin' _perfect_.” He began to run.

* * *

Wheeljack had gleefully blasted and sliced his way through three buildings before Optimus and Bulkhead arrived to join in the destruction. Optimus had stressed a focus on damaging property rather than people. MECH was their enemy, but the thought of wantonly killing humans still didn't sit well with the Prime.

Their foes didn't stay in disarray for very long; within five minutes of the first attack they'd organized into three teams: one was loading the salvage they'd brought up for inspection back to the bunkers below, another was holding the line as best as they were able, and the third was emptying the armory and preparing the heavy ammunition: suppression cannons.

“We need to cut 'em off!” Wheeljack called through the fray. Whether he was trying to reach Optimus, Bulkhead, or just stating the obvious in general was uncertain.

Either way, Optimus heard and agreed. He called in the flanking team, and within moments Arcee and Bumblebee were streaking out of the woods, ready to intercept the supply lines. The two speedsters blew through the camp, wildly scattering MECH forces. It was a textbook maneuver, and for a moment, the assembled Autobots felt a flicker of optimism pass through them.

Then, as if on cue, the high whining roar of jet engines could be heard. Bulkhead looked to the sky even as the shadow of the aerial squadron fell over him. “Aw, scrap.”

* * *

The MECH forces were equally dismayed, if not more so, by the arrival of the jets. The salvage team had sprung into action first, knowing that their best hope of holding onto what little scavenged tech they had lay in getting it underground as fast as possible. They paused, as a group, when they heard the thunder of the engines as the airborn squad came down over the battlefield, but sprang back into action almost immediately, redoubling their efforts.

They'd already made one successful run, securing the largest and most complicated devices onto a heavy-duty gurney and running it into the facility. By now, it was likely on its way underground, away from the worst of the battle. A pair of operatives had covered it until they'd been able to get it to one of the elevators, but the battle had intensified, and they hadn't been able to return to the salvage team. If the trend continued, soon they'd be helpless to move at _all_.

“We're going to need to bunker down,” Watts said as he ducked back into one of the buildings, slotting another stunner-canister into his specialized rifle. Even now, their main priority was to take as many of these things alive as they could. “If we can hole up in the base, then we'll last until we can call in reinforcements.”

“I don't like this,” another agent protested as he helped load up the second gurney. “These guys all hit us at once. And aren't they supposed to be fighting _each_ _other_? Since when did they team up to take _us_ down?”

Watts leaned out of the doorway, trying to draw a beat on one of the fliers, only to see it dart very sharply aside to avoid a barrage of cannon-fire from the yellow robot. He stepped back in with a short, exasperated sigh. “I don't think they're working together.”

A third voice broke through the confusion. “How many more trips do we need?” All heads snapped to the direction of this new speaker, who had just skidded into one of the doorways. “We gotta get out of here, ASAP.”

“What's going on?” Watts asked. There was an urgent note in the newcomer's voice that sent prickles of alarm running down his spine.

“The boys further up the mountain are going to try and clear the field,” the newcomer panted, “and we need to get the hell out of dodge. They're getting the big gun ready.”

“The suppressors?”

The newcomer shook his head. “They're already up. I'm talking about the _big_ big gun.”

The MECH agents scattered about the room froze as one. For a second, nobody spoke, and then Watts muttered into the stunned silence, “We need to _move_.”

* * *

Rumble and Scorponok had slowed when they entered the complex proper, but it soon became apparent that the unexpected interference from the Autobots had done the job of drawing personnel away from the heart of the complex. The two symbionts stuck relatively close, splitting up only as far as individual rooms went, and never got far enough to be in different hallways from one another.

Rumble was keeping watch in a doorway while Scorponok investigated the room beyond when an anxious ping came through the commline. Soundwave. It felt odd communicating in such a flat, stilted way, but they'd moved deeper into the mountain mountain, and it was by now well and truly muffling the bond. “Sorry, Boss, no place big enough for a bridge yet. Maybe we should've just brought the miners in, had them drill their way through here.”

The wordless burst of data over the comm line confirmed that, if MECH tried to turn this into a siege situation, sending in the drilling machines would be the next step.

Rumble snickered, “Great minds, right?” He stepped out of the way as Scorponok exited, clicking to himself in frustration. “Nothin' left in this hallway but the elevator. C'mon,” he turned away, “let's go back to that other hallway, we haven't checked the--”

A clank and a hiss broke through Rumble's words, and both mechs turned around.

Standing in the elevator behind them was a single MECH agent, decked out in full uniform. Even with the mask in place, his horror at spotting two small but very vicious-looking Cybertronians inside his own base was evident. It wasn't just because he feared for his own life, though. He had been backing out of the room pulling a three-tiered gurney. The gurney had been loaded with tech.

Strapped into place to the middle tier was a very familiar-looking pod.

Immediately the human lunged for the door control. Rumble and Scorponok flung themselves down the hall towards the elevator, but even the scorpion's superior scuttling speed couldn't reach it before the blast doors closed. “Slaggit,” Rumble roared, skidding to a halt. “Slag it slag it _slag it_!”

He kicked the nearest wall and angrily barked into the comm, “Someone just came down with the pod! In an elevator! And then they just went up again!” A wordless affirmative reached him, along with instructions to go after it. Scowling, Rumble applied his pile-drivers to the elevator hatch, denting the doors at the seam where they met so he could reach in and pull them apart.

Scorponok gave a series of beeps and chirps as means of reassurance. If something happened, and the pod opened in the elevator, then it would be a situation where one human was stuck in a small space with Frenzy, who was doubtlessly going to be angry and confused (confused for obvious reasons, and angry because it was more or less his default state). Rumble snorted. “You're not wrong. Okay, we follow it up. When we get to the elevator, you'll need to drill through the floor, so climb ahead of me.”

He leaped out, sagging the elevator cable and swinging lightly. Scorponok followed after, landing against Rumble (“Oof!”) and then skittering up the line in an ascending spiral, drills whining eagerly. Rumble, somewhat more slowly, followed.

* * *

The situation above had deteriorated into pure pandemonium. At any given time it was hard to specifically discern who was fighting who. MECH was fending off attacks from both Autobots and Decepticons, while the Autobots were fending off attack by MECH and the Decepticons, and the Decepticons themselves were mostly just engaging in what seemed to be wholesale destruction.

Somewhat surprisingly, the initial advantage began to go to MECH. As soon as they had their suppression cannons online, they began to shoot down the aerial forces, starting with the drones. Starscream was much too nimble to be caught, and the Autobots were harder targets on the ground with so much cover at their disposal, but Eradicons were dropping right and left.

This was giving the humans the chance to move a little more freely, and they clearly had a plan in mind. MECH forces were converging on a single point; the density of their manpower there was vague, but ominous. Starscream could only suspect they were either prepping for extraction or perhaps setting up a bigger and more effective weapon. Whatever it was, it was sheltered by a deceptively-frail looking shack that had been built halfway up the cliffside, and the humans were determinedly confounding all attempts by either faction to approach it from the land or the air.

“I need backup,” the Seeker snarled into the comm, “preferably someone with more common sense than these _useless drones_!”

He received two message at once, immediately following his statement. One was a wordless affirmative ping from Soundwave. The other was a comm from Lord Megatron himself. “If you want something done,” he growled, “apparently you must do it _yourself_.”

Starscream didn't much care for Megatron's lack of appreciation of his efforts, but he had to admit, he wasn't disappointed with the choice of backup.

* * *

Down below, one of the _useless drones_ was shaking off the effects of the electromagnetic stunner and groaning to himself. “Urrgh.” He shifted into root mode, pushing himself up off the ground and looking around warily. None of the MECH operatives seemed to be close. He couldn't even remember exactly which part of the battlefield he'd been flying over when he'd been shot down.

He sat up, wincing and reaching back to pull the pronged stun-missile out of his side. “Primus fraggit. Last time I volunteer for a--”

With no warning, a human plunged out of an open doorway in one of the still-standing buildings next to him, pushing along a gurney. It skidded to a stop when it passed into the shadow of the enormous purple mech above it. For a moment, the two lackeys stared at one another.

“Boo,” the drone said.

The human immediately lost its nerve and ran, abandoning its cargo. The eradicon plucked up the gurney, did a double-take, and stared at the prize strapped to the middle tier: the pod. Not only did he recognize it, but he knew what to do with it; Starscream had very thoroughly briefed the entire flight squad. “I don't believe it. I don't fraggin' _believe_ it--” Immediately he tore it free and set it on the ground, pulling the cube of energon he'd been given specifically for this eventuality from his subspace. Setting it down by the pod, he leaned over and waited, watching raptly.

His attention was so focused on the pod that he didn't even see the bright yellow Autobot careening around the corner until he'd taken two shots to the chest. The eradicon went down without a sound and Bumblebee continued to charge through, only skidding to a stop when he saw what it was the drone had been looking at. His optics cycled wide. _“Optimus,”_ he commed, scooping down to grab the pod, _“I have it!”_

* * *

Two ground bridges hissed into existence almost simultaneously. One of them opened in the sky, admitting into the air the shining silver bulk of Lord Megatron, who was followed by a stream of eradicon fliers and Soundwave. The second one opened closer to the ground, as near to Bumblebee as possible while still being far from the brunt of the fighting. The risk of infiltration of the base from either enemy faction was too great to open it any closer.

The Autobots struggled to move in to Bumblebee's defense, hampered both by the fresh wave of Decepticons and the grimly-struggling MECH forces. Bumblebee pushed on, the pod tucked securely under his arm and against his side.

Rumble and Scorponk emerged from the same doorway their human prey had taking quick stock of their situation. They immediately rushed to the gurney. Rumble cursed colorfully when he'd seen the pod had been taken, and Scorponok began to slither over the rubble, searching for an sign of it. A weak voice interrupted their search.

“Took it.” They both turned towards the sound, coming face-to-face with the wounded eradicon. “The yellow one. Tried to open it... but he ran off.”

Rumble wasted no time. “Boss! Bumblebee has it!”

In the sky above, Soundwave twisted in midair and made a beeline for the scout.

On the ground below, the electronic display on the capsule tucked under Bumblebee's arm turned green.

Then, in the air between the two points, a roaring torrent of light and heat streaked through the sky. Soundwave swerved, barely avoiding the blast; two eradicons weren't so lucky and took the full force of it, immediately dropping from the sky in smoking wrecks of twisted metal. A question filled the minds of all the mechanical fighters present, Autobot and Decepticon alike: _what the hell was that?_

Starscream was the first to spot and indicate the weapon on his allies' HUDs. The building MECH soldiers had been converging on had been blasted apart by the force of a long-nosed cannon; it looked rather like the result of a mating between a rail-gun and a Tesla coil, with sparks skittering over the complex geometries of its frame.

“Oh _Primus,_ ” one of the drones commed hysterically, “is that it? Is that the weapon?”

“Does it matter?” Starscream asked, immediately following his statement with a command for the drones to rally to him. Regardless of what that thing was, it needed to be taken down, and if anyone was going to have a chance at getting even remotely close to that thing, they had to be the best damn flier in the sky. Starscream was a Seeker, and he was going to show those humans exactly what that title entailed. “I believe it is a ship's cannon—modified, perhaps. It will need time to recharge without a large enough power source. We strike _now_!”

The cannon was pulling away from him, though. It was swiveling down the slope, bringing its muzzle to bear on Bumblebee.

* * *

“Is that the--!?” Wheeljack asked, charging through the rubble towards the fleeing form of their scout.

“I do not believe so,” was Optimus's reply. They noticed the cannon changing targets moments after Starscream did. Optimus skidded to a halt, eyes widening, while Wheeljack picked up his speed. “Bumblebee, take cover!” the Prime ordered.

Too late. The cannon roared again.

* * *

The blast seared a deep furrow into the earth, annihilating the nearby buildings and setting off a series of small explosions in the thunder and fury of its retort. Bumblebee's salvation was that his foes hadn't managed to hit him directly, but the sheer force of the burst sent him flying.

He didn't remember losing consciousness, but as he came to, he realized he must have blacked out for a few moments, either from the force of hitting the ground, or the way such force had impacted the wounds he'd sustained over the past few days... or maybe, a little of both. The sounds of the battle were muffled. All he could hear was a high-pitched ringing in his audials. He'd been hit. He'd been hit with something _terrible_ , and he needed to get up. Bumblebee tried to pull himself up, and felt a warm rush of energon down his side. That couldn't be good. He had to move, or they'd hit him again, unless...

Unless he hit them first. He cast about dizzily for the pod. He was bleeding. If he could get it open, and the Combinatoric was inside--

“Gotcha,” Bulkhead was suddenly there. Bumblebee thought muzzily to himself that he had to be in bad shape if _Bulkhead_ could sneak up on him. He tried to speak, tried to tell the other mech that the pod was near. It _had_ to be near. All that escaped his vocalizer was static. “Don't try and talk, Bee,” Bulkhead was moving as fast as he could, trying to get them both out of dodge.

Bumblebee tried to gather his legs under him, tried to stumble along, but his movements were jerky and uncoordinated. Then, without even searching for it, he saw it. The pod had been blown out of his hands and come to rest on the other side of the scorched furrow. He struggled weakly. He was close, he was so _close_ to their target. He'd held it in his hands and--

\--the pod rocked.

Bumblebee stared as Bulkhead dragged him further back through the rubble. A second mech had joined them, but he didn't register who it was, because he was still staring at the pod. It pod rocked again, and the hatch was thrust open by a kicking foot. A small, slim shape clawed its way out of the interior. It was shaking.

The second mech was speaking to him. Who? Arcee. She was holding the side of his helm and trying to keep his attention. Bumblebee turned to look into her face. Arcee looked upset. _How badly am I hurt?_ He thought to himself. He tried to say, _“He's awake. He's over there.”_

Bumblebee needn't have bothered. The former occupant of the pod had peered around at his chaotic surroundings, his eyes suspicious red slits in his face. His face contorted into an angry snarl. He vented in deeply.

Bumblebee managed to beep out, “ _He's going to_ \--”

Frenzy _screamed_ , and in doing so rained electric hell down on every mechanical device on the battlefield.

* * *

Rumble had been doing his level best to follow Bumblebee, but it was harder for him to move through the rubble than the larger Autobot. The moment his twin had regained consciousness, though, he'd frozen, a look of intense concentration on his faceplates, as if he couldn't be sure if he could trust what he was feeling.

Moments later, the scream pierced through the air, removing all doubt. “Yeah,” he grunted, picking up the pace and wincing as he felt the effects of his brother's battle-cry ringing in the back of his processor. “That's him, all right.”

Scorponok gave a joyous screech and, apparently either unhindered by or unconcerned with the battle-cry, plunged on ahead of him.

* * *

The Autobots and Decepticons were immediately thrown into violent confusion as their internal systems scrambled under the effects of Frenzy's battle-cry. The aerial forces slid crazily across the sky for a few moments before the eradicons regained their wits, and the ground forces were halted in their tracks as they struggled to regain mental control.

MECH forces also stumbled; the effect of the scream was wreaking havoc on the electronic components of their equipment. Their suppression stunners momentarily lost power and died. The cannon locked up, its firing coil cooling. The humans themselves, though unnerved, didn't suffer the same ill effects as their machines, and as such, they were the first to rally.

Within moments, the cannon was moving again, and filling the air with the scent of ozone as it charged.

Likewise, Soundwave was unaffected by his symbiont's cry. He corkscrewed through the air, doubling back and diving towards the source of the scream. The only thought on his processor was reaching Frenzy.

The cannon adjusted its aim slightly, away from the retreating Autobots and on the source of the new disturbance that was continuing to disrupt the bulk of MECH's machinery.

Soundwave noticed it and put on a desperate burst of speed; his mind was a furious blaze of fear and rage and determination, trying to prevent what he saw happening with the sheer force of his will alone. He was fast, but he wasn't fast enough. He _had_ to be fast enough. He wasn't going to make it. He _had_ to make it.

Frenzy stopped, breathing heavy. The cry had cleared his processor and given him a moment to try and process the madness of his surroundings. His optics darted back and forth before they came to rest on the mountainside ahead and the muzzle of the distant cannon aimed directly at him. He tried to will his shaking limbs to move, but he was too weak, too slow, and it was too late: a barely-perceivable hum was hanging in the air. Moments before the blow, he grit his teeth and his eyes flashed in anger and defiance. Electricity crackled along the barrel of the cannon.

Soundwave wasn't fast enough to reach Frenzy before the shot went off, but Megatron was, and the Decepticon warlord dropped from the sky like a stone. In a flash of silver he transformed, landing on both feet with a force that shook the ground. Frenzy stumbled back, looked up, and had just enough to take in the fierce visage of his Lord, who was wearing a snarl of contempt for this human weapon aimed at them. Megatron knelt, and it fired.

Only Bumblebee, Arcee, and Bulkhead saw this happen directly; the other Autobots were too far to know that anything had happened except the third firing of the cannon. The force of it had knocked the three of them off their feet. Bulkhead rose first, dragging Bumblebee with him, who was by then unconscious. Arcee stood on her own, eyes wide, staring at the impact sight with disbelief written on her face. “Did he just...?”

Soundwave had seen it all from above, and for a few moments after the explosion, before the smoke cleared, he was filled with horror. Frenzy and Megatron had been caught in that blast, and to think for a moment that he could have lost both of them, his symbiont and his leader, that long-lost part of him and his Intended—but logic kicked in an instant after. He would have felt Frenzy's demise, and he hadn't. The spy hadn't arrested his plunge even in his moment of chilling doubt, and as he streaked closer he finally saw the aftermath for himself. Megatron was kneeling in front of Frenzy. The plating down his side had been shorn, buckled, and half-melted, but he was still holding together. He was _alive_ , and he was still very much conscious.

The ground around them had been burned and blasted by the cannon, all of it except for that pocket of space that had been shielded by the warlord's bulk, and it was in this space that Frenzy stood, stunned by the frenetic violence of everything that had happened in the few seconds since he'd woken up.

_A Bondmate protects._

The next instant Soundwave was there, shifting and landing, long limbs splayed to absorb the significant force of his impact. He placed himself in front of Megatron and Frenzy both, driven to act by emotions that he normally kept under tight control, but that had been loosed by the tumultuous circumstances of the battle and several long days' worth of unusual stress. He wasn't thinking about what he could possibly do to actually shield them, wasn't thinking about how pointless a gesture it was to try and protect them from such a distant threat. He was only thinking about the way he'd felt when he'd seen the searing white fire engulf Megatron and Frenzy both, and how he'd felt when he'd seen them standing in the rubble.

MECH didn't seemed nearly as moved by the mutual displays of devotion, and they were well into the process of charging the cannon once more. They didn't realize it immediately, but they'd actually made a critical tactical error in the few moments since the first blast of their weapon.

They'd forgotten about the Seeker.

Starscream came thundering out of the sky flanked by two ragged arcs of drones who began a simultaneous barrage of fire at his command. In an instant the site surrounding the cannon was a nightmare of laser fire, and just before the squadron pulled out of the dive into a tight climb, Starscream loosed a pair of missiles upon the weapon, finishing the work that his fliers had started. They rose as an impressive explosion bloomed in the air beneath them.

This seemed to galvanize the stunned Autobots into action. Optimus and Wheeljack reached their beleaguered three comrades at last, covering their retreat. They'd lost the pod, and the Decepticon sovereignty of the battlefield meant that staying any longer would ensure they lost their lives, as well. “Even if the Combinatoric is here, yet to be recovered,” Optimus said gravely as he relieved Bulkhead of the burden of Bumblebee's unconscious form, “I will not spend your lives to secure it.”

Soundwave remained where he'd landed, standing stock-still as he finally managed to wrestle his emotions under control long enough to process what had happened. He turned. Megatron was still kneeling, breathing harshly and heavily through his teeth, his eyes narrowed in defiance of his own pain. There were many things that could have been said in those moments immediately after what could have been an end to both of their lives, but perhaps more significant was the realization that none of those things really _needed_ to be spoken. A look was all that was required. It passed silently between them.

The moment was interrupted when Scorponok exploded onto the scene, immediately making his way to Frenzy and coiling his lower half in a loose arc about the minicon's feet, raising and whirring his drills in challenge to any fresh threat that might make its way there. Frenzy blinked, his features slack, his usual tension drained from him in the place of how utterly stunned he felt instead. “Hey,” he said simply.

Scorponok chirped a greeting.

Rumble skidded onto the scene next, nearly losing his footing as he stumbled over the rubble and almost falling flat on his face. “Boss—what happ—oh slag, you--damn.” He finished, looking between the four mechs standing before him. He skidded to a halt and blinked. “Damn,” he repeated, for emphasis.

Megatron shuddered and bared his teeth, moving to clamp his hand over his side. Energon was welling up between his claws. “We have what we came for,” he growled, “I think... at this juncture...”

Soundwave moved to place his spindly fingers over Megatron's claws, but before the warlord could speak again, a thundering impact interrupted his words. The dark form of Blackout loomed over them all. Nobody had been expecting his presence so soon in the battle, but his next words provided all the explanation that was required. “A retreat,” he said, kneeling to help Megatron to his feet, “would be the wisest course of action.”


	14. Expectations, Transformations, and the Permanence of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has an extra-long title to go with an extra-long chapter. I didn't really intend for this to get as long as it did, but such things fit in with the chapter's theme, so it's all good. This entry's a break from the action, and is a lot more about introspection and character interaction (and furthering a few plot threads). Thanks, as always, to everyone who reads, reviews, and exercises such incredible amount of patience with my slowness, aha... 
> 
> Squicks in this chapter: Light mentions of wounds and violence. Also, near the end we get up to some hanky panky.

**Chapter 13- Expectations, Transformations, and the Permanence of Change**

 

It turned out to have been Starscream who ordered the retreat—Blackout had just arrived to help facilitate it. Much could be said about the Seeker's decision to take matters into his own hands when his superior was still on the battlefield, but in this instance everyone was either suitably occupied with the aftermath or understanding enough of the logic behind the decision. Megatron's wound was not fatal on its own, but keeping him in combat under such conditions wouldn't do him any favors. Besides, like he had said, they had what they came for.

Later, Soundwave would remember the immediate aftermath in a haze. Megatron remained conscious throughout the entire process of having his injury treated. Between patching up Megatron and hurrying to attend to the wounded drones (which were arriving in a constant, steady flow), the medbay was buzzing with activity. Through it all, Soundwave watched silently, connected through a hardline to Frenzy, who was re-synchronizing with his host much in the same manner Rumble had. He'd been checked over and fueled, but he was still evidently tired, which was probably why he's managed to keep so calm in the middle of such chaos.

Soundwave and Rumble filled the last missing member of their team in on the basics of what was going on. They'd mutually decided to wait until later to drop the whole courtship bombshell on him. Of all his symbionts, Soundwave found Frenzy's reactions the hardest to predict. For the moment, he was content to focus on the present, dividing his attention between the minicon tethered to him and to the warlord standing to the side of the main crush of activity, proud despite the dark matte patches messily welded onto his side.

Whenever he looked up, Megatron was staring. Soundwave stared back. It wasn't an uncomfortable gesture, but rather reminded him of that same intensity that had passed between them when Megatron had agreed to launch the rescue attempt for Frenzy. Somehow, even after all these millions of years, there was still yet room for something new to slide into this space between them, some hitherto-unforeseen frequency in the harmony that was their relationship.

Soundwave let his visor linger on Megatron before he looked down to check on Frenzy once again. The little mech was sagging, his elbows on his knees, his head lowered slightly. His feet dangled off the edge of the med-berth. Soundwave examined his symbiont's vitals (another task he'd been repeating endlessly since they entered), and once again reiterated, through the bond, that Frenzy needed to refuel.

Frenzy shook his head once more. “Too tired to refuel,” he said simply. “I just want to sleep.” The minicon snorted and regarded Soundwave askance, “I sleep for what's gotta be hundreds of years and the first thing I wanna do when I wake up is _sleep_.”

Soundwave silently pointed out that there was a marked difference between sleep and stasis lock. Frenzy merely shrugged in response.

Once the more critical cases were taken care of, Knock Out finally came to give Frenzy a proper look-over. He was in rougher shape than Rumble had been when he'd been retrieved, but Rumble had also had the basics of his care attended to by Autobots. “I'm not surprised to hear you're not hungry,” Knock Out drawled without looking up from the datapad in his hand. “With energy levels that low, you're better of siphoning in your fuel. It'll be easier on your systems than ingesting.” This all meant that Frenzy would be staying the night in the medbay.

As the hours passed, Soundwave was inclined to linger, but there was nowhere for him to rest. The medbay was full. He knew he would have to surrender the presence of his symbiont to Knock Out's care for the evening, but he stayed in the medbay late into the night.

Frenzy had long since laid down, connected to the fuel siphoning system and several monitors by a snarl of cables. He was very calm (an unusual state for him), and very still, drifting back and forth over the line between waking and recharge. An hour's worth of siphoning appeared to perk him up a bit, but he was still very far removed from the usual restless energy that typically characterized his presence.

Rumble had left sometime earlier of his own accord, satisfied that Frenzy wasn't going to fall to pieces during the night, and keen on getting some rest himself. After they'd been left alone (relatively, of course, as the med bay was still crowded), during one of his waking moments, Frenzy spoke rather abruptly, “Y'know, it's weird. It's kinda hard accepting that all of this has changed so much.”

Soundwave swiveled his screen towards his symbiont, but did not reply.

“I mean, sure, half the stuff around here looks different. _You_ look different.” He made a vague gesture indicating Soundwave's form. “But you haven't changed, not _really_. I think that's it. It doesn't seem real because... because it sorta feels like I left you yesterday.”

 _Changes: not always readily apparent,_ was Soundwave's reply. _More has changed than you know._

“Yeah, _obviously_ , but...” He trailed off, struggling with his lack of eloquence before he shook his head and went quiet. After a few moments, he said, “I mean what _matters_. You didn't crack. It had to be hard on you. I know it was, even if you ain't gonna admit it. But you stuck with it. You're still here, doing what you do.” He paused again, and Soundwave shared the silence with him. He had nothing to add to his symbiont's observation.

“I'm glad,” Frenzy finally went on. “That you're still here. That you didn't let this take you down.” There was a sense of pride underlying Frenzy's words, a pride he couldn't articulate. None of Soundwave's symbionts would have abandoned him if anything should happen that would shake his grip on his facilities, but there was a sense of appreciation that they had a worthwhile carrier to return to. Mercenary though it might have seemed, Soundwave recognized it as Frenzy's unique brand of affection.

His response was succinct. _Soundwave's presence: necessary. Someone had to keep them in line._

Frenzy gave a snort of laughter at this. He began to drift back into recharge, and for a time, Soundwave remained with him, hovering beside the bed. When it was clear he wasn't going to wake up, the spymaster drew a long breath through his vents. The quiet air of the medbay was broken only by the occasional steady beep of the monitoring equipment, and the sound of the sleeping wounded's venting. Soundwave was one of the only mechs in the room that was still awake.

He turned to face the another. Megatron had rested as the day wore on, finally allowing himself to be coaxed to a proper medberth, but he'd not yet fallen into recharge. He had been looking off to the side, staring into middle space before Soundwave's deliberate movement had caught his eye. The warlord regarded Soundwave quietly.

In response, Soundwave simply walked towards him. He drew up beside Megatron's berth and looked down, taking in the full scope of Megatron's injuries. Temporary welds and patches crowded all along his side, and masses of cables crowded into every gap between them, a myriad of tiny lifelines monitoring and stabilizing his vital functions. It was a very raw, visceral reminder of what he'd been willing to do that day, what he'd done without hesitation or question. He didn't look frail, but he _did_ look damaged. Soundwave forced himself to take it all in, to remember. Something in his solemnity must have crept into his EM field, because Megatron shifted and reached up, hooking a single talon under Soundwave's chin to meet his gaze directly.

“A scratch,” he said, “I didn't lose anything worth mourning over.”

 _Neither did I,_ Soundwave replied.

Megatron bared his teeth in a crooked grin. He didn't move his claw from where it rested. “Then as far as I'm concerned, this is a victory. We retrieved what we meant to, after all.” The slightest thrill of their success passed between them. The long cycles of waiting, of refusing to mourn, of anticipation and disappointment had become so embedded in Soundwave's spark, had become such an indelible part of his life. He had to remind himself that all of that was over. He had won his personal battle. He hadn't won it alone, either. 

Megatron's grin broadened, a fierce gesture rather than a warm one, when he sensed the tension easing out of Soundwave's EM field. For a moment they just stood there, speaking without speaking, reveling in the sense of victory against troubling odds, and the pride that came with doing so by taking what was rightfully theirs from the hands of their foes. Just moments before, Soundwave had looked upon his Lord and found the sight to be a sobering reminder of the cost of devotion. In just a few moments, in just a few words, his perception had completely shifted. Megatron seemed to radiate triumph, to seethe with his vicious iron will not only to live, but to _conquer_. His wounds seem to magnify that indefatigable spirit rather than diminish it.

Frenzy's words came back to Soundwave. He hadn't let loss drive him away from the cause, from the place he'd taken for himself in the universe. If anything, it had only strengthened his dedication, and now he had everything to show for it. There, in that medbay, he let the last vestiges of his pensiveness and distress drain from him. There, in that medbay, he was able to turn his back on the uncertainties of the past forever.

There, in that medbay, it felt _good_ to be a Decepticon.

They let the moment last, content with one another's presence, content with the newfound surge of vitality they felt. The air was electric with it. Finally, though, Megatron let his talon slip carefully away from under Soundwave's chin. “Rest, now. We still have work to do.”

Soundwave nodded, lingering for a moment before he slowly turned away. Rest was the last thing from his mind. It seemed like a difficult thing to do, invigorated as he was. He paused by Frenzy's med berth to check on him one last time. He was sleeping peacefully, and more importantly, he was safe. Any anxiety Soundwave could have felt had been put to rest by the sheer force of Megatron's presence.

And, of course, it wasn't as if their Lord was his only would-be guard. Soundwave glanced down to the floor beside the berth, taking in, with some humor, Scorponok's coiled form. Blackout's wayward symbiont had come into the medbay some time before, and silently assumed his place by the berth. Looking down at him then, Soundwave first thought Scorponok was asleep, but the minicon stirred and raised himself slightly off the floor to return Soundwave's gaze.

They regarded one another for a moment. At length, Soundwave gave a short nod. Scorponok responded with a brief whir of his drills. Amused and satisfied that his charge was suitably guarded, Soundwave turned and finally left the med bay.

 

* * *

 

Scorponok was still there when he returned in the morning, but he was no longer alone. Blackout had kept out of the medbay the day prior, figuring it was crowded enough without adding an enormous helicopter to the mix. Frenzy was already awake, sitting cross-legged at the edge of his berth and talking to them both as Soundwave entered with Rumble in tow. Frenzy had benefited greatly from Knock Out's care. He was alert and animated, and already the characteristic tiny twitches and trembles that defined his body language were returning. It was a sight that Soundwave had missed for a long, long time.

“Yeah, well, they're a pain in the _neck_ ,” Frenzy declared, shaking his head and scowling.

“A persistent one, I gather,” Blackout said with a slight shrug. “Their men were the first to greet me when we arrived on this planet. Luckily, Starscream and his soldiers were not long in rendering their assistance.”

Frenzy's face twisted into a grin. “So, basically, the first thing you did when you came here was get your aft saved by Starscream?”

There was a moment of silence as Blackout processed Frenzy's summary of the events and let the horror of it all sink in. He loosed a long, weary sigh. “Yes,” he said resignedly. “I did.”

This prompted a snicker from both Frenzy and Rumble. Frenzy straightened his posture and nodded to Soundwave, who had just drawn up to the medberth, before returning to the very important task of ribbing Blackout. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how insufferable has he been about all of that?”

“Not at all, actually,” the warrior replied, relief plain in his tone. “It's been a busy week. I think that particular way of looking at the situation hasn't yet occurred to him.”

“Well,” Frenzy said, “ _I_ won't tell if _you_ won't.”

“Much appreciated,” was Blackout's dry response.

Frenzy turned to regard his carrier once more. “We were just talkin' about these MECH guys.”

Soundwave nodded, conveying with the simple gesture both acknowledgment and reciprocation. MECH had always been irritating to deal with, but after the events of the past few days, it was obvious that more direct action might be needed to stop their meddling. To Soundwave, it felt eerily similar to the way the Decepticon army had handled the threat of he pirates. He wasn't going to let this story end the same way as that one had.

“Yeah,” Rumble said, adding his own perspective in, “pain in the neck is one way to put it. But hey, they're mostly small if you get them alone.” He raised his hands, pounding a fist into the opposite palm with a grin.

Blackout received this observation with an amused nod. “I was just coming to collect someone.” He gestured towards Scorponok, turning his masked face to regard Soundwave. “I don't doubt his capabilities as a bodyguard, but he hasn't refueled since yesterday.”

Soundwave aimed the screen that served as his face down, and parsed a statement out of Blackout's words from the previous conversation. _“Assistance—much appreciated.”_

This seemed to satisfy Scorponok, who uncoiled and stretched, replying in a series of muttered clicks and chirps. Blackout stood calm and still as his symbiont turned and scurried up his frame, flaring his rotors and partially transforming the plates to accommodate Scorponok. Within moments, the smaller mech had vanished into the angles and tessellations of Blackout's back. Mutual nods all around served as a silent farewell, and Soundwave was left with his two creations.

“They took the Boss out?” Rumble asked, nodding towards the empty berth across the room that had previously been occupied by Megatron.

“I wasn't awake when it happened, but _apparently_ he just up and left,” Frenzy replied, swinging down to the floor from the medberth. “Which sounds like a good idea to _me_. Let's get outta here.” The beginnings of a question began to form in Soundwave's mind, but Frenzy, sensing them through the bond, shook his head and held up a hand. “Doc said I was good to go. And that I had a lot to catch up on.”

Rumble grinned with the sort of glee that was only found on the faces of people who knew something others didn't. “You don't know the half of it, bro.”

 

* * *

 

Elsewhere, Starscream was being dismissed, after having enjoyed a full night of being more or less absolute commander of the ship. It was an evening that had passed all too soon, but Lord Megatron was up and about, and Starscream decided it would be wiser not to contradict him. If Megatron was too injured to be so mobile, he'd soon feel the effects of it (and look like a fool, a prospect that pleased Starscream to no end).

Besides, Starscream had enough to keep him busy. The strike on the MECH base had been reasonably successful, and his aerial squadron had performed superbly. They still had work to do, however, and the sooner they started on following their remaining leads, the better. Starscream hadn't been struck by a sudden affliction of loyalty, subservience or anything similarly dreadful, of course. What spurred him on was _pride_.

He mulled over his achievements as he stepped into his quarters, noting the cube of energon that had been left for him as he did. It was Starscream who'd been in charge of organizing the bulk of the strike. It had been Starscream that reacted first to the unexpected presence of Autobots on the battlefield, and when Lord Megatron had been struck down, it had been Starscream and his fliers that had violently reminded the humans of their place.

...come to think of it, it was a bit odd, knowing that he might have very well saved Megatron, but Starscream comforted himself with the notion that their leader would have almost certainly pulled through in the end. He'd already died _once_ , after all. Still, the end result of all of this was that Starscream came out of the entire affair looking like a hero and a tactical genius. Maybe now, he'd get some more of the respect he deserved.

 _Mental note,_ he thought to himself as he crossed the room, plucking a datapad from a charging cradle as he went. _Be sure to get as many acknowledgments of my timely heroics as possible in the field report from Blackout._ Seeing that insufferable, disrespectful barbarian acknowledge Starscream's innate superiority was icing on the oilcake.

Starscream smiled lazily as he reached for his cube, his optics flickering over the datapad. He had a few messages and reports already queued up, and once they were out of his way, he could begin his next round of plans. He had brought his fuel halfway to his mouth when he stopped, blinking widely at the device and leaning forward slightly. Had he read that right...? A second look-over had proven that he did. He settled back again, a single brow cocked.

“Well,” he muttered to himself in the silent stillness of his room, “ _that_ is certainly interesting.”

 

* * *

 

Frenzy blinked slowly, digesting the information he'd just been given. “Wait, you mean a Bondmate like a _spark bond_?”

Soundwave had taken him back to his quarters. Ravage and Laserbeak had detached from him, and the entire team was assembled throughout the room. Frenzy, of course, was up and moving, too full of energy to sit still. He'd been pacing back and forth as they'd told him all he needed to know, constantly in motion. Soundwave had missed that sight.

“What other kind of Bondmate is there, y'moron?” Rumble asked.

“I dunno, I just figured... I wanted to be sure.” Frenzy spared his twin an irritated glance before looking back to Soundwave. “So, yeah?”

Soundwave nodded. He had been largely silent throughout the whole conversation, communicating through the bond or in data bursts. Rumble had been doing most of the talking, with occasional interjections from his remaining teammates. _Soundwave: honored and compliant._

Frenzy frowned slightly. “Compliant?”

Soundwave paused, realizing that his typical neutral language probably wouldn't present the most accurate description of events. He added, _Bond: mutually desired._

The minicon nodded slowly, digesting this. “That's. Whoa. That's kinda big.”

Rumble seemed somewhat disappointed that Frenzy's reaction hadn't been stronger. “That's it? Kinda big? If that's 'kinda big', whaddya consider 'pretty slaggin important?'”

They'd already started bickering. It wasn't so much inter-team friction as it was Rumble and Frenzy's default state of being. Soundwave regarded this with a mixture of faintly exasperated amusement and satisfaction. He'd missed that, too.

“I'm not saying it ain't _important,_ bolts-for-brains, it's just—what _else_ am I supposed to say?” Frenzy countered, rounding on his brother.

“Maybe, 'hey, congrats on getting basically the biggest promotion possible from the Lord of all Decepticons.'”

Frenzy turned back to Soundwave and said, flatly, “Congrats on getting basically the biggest promotion possible from the Lord of all Decepticons. There,” he turned yet again, back towards Rumble. “Y'happy?”

Rumble shrugged. “Eh. It'll do.”

Soundwave stepped in at last, quelling Rumble's rambunctiousness and Frenzy's growing irritability. He explained that the Bond wasn't _exactly_ considered a promotion. It was something much more important, much more personal. It was an honor, yes, and in some ways a recognition of his service, but it was a recognition that went beyond his actions as a _Decepticon_. It was more about who he was as _Soundwave_. He didn't even try to convey his feelings into words, relying instead on the innate silent communication his telepathy provided.

Frenzy was left somewhat startled by the raw emotion that accompanied the explanation. “Huh.” He couldn't really be blamed for not fully understanding the connotations of a Bond. Like the drones and crowded the Nemesis's hallway, much of Frenzy's life had been dominated by the war. The social niceties of peacetime were largely lost on him and Rumble. Frenzy tilted his head, silently turning his thoughts over. “That's... different.”

Rumble rolled his eyes under his visor at Frenzy's continuing lack of eloquence, but didn't antagonize his brother further.

“I know it seems strange to think Megatron would want something like that,” Ravage interjected, “but it's less about being soft-sparked and more about taking something you want. Starscream is the one who convinced him it was a good idea.”

“ _That_ backfired,” Rumble pointed out.

“We've always given everything for this cause, right from the start.” Ravage shot Rumble a vaguely annoyed look. “Soundwave more than anyone else. Now, he has been asked to provide it with a legacy.”

This seemed easier for Frenzy to wrap his mind around. “Guess that makes sense.” He regarded his carrier thoughtfully. “Y'know, Boss, I think you might have changed more'n I thought you did since we last saw each other.” Soundwave wasn't receiving any strong mental impressions to accompany the statement, and he couldn't initially tell whether that was meant to be a good thing or a bad thing. By way of answer, Frenzy grinned suddenly and widely. “Way to go, Boss! You bagged _Megatron_!” 

Soundwave couldn't help but feel he might not have gotten his point across fully, but this was close enough. He nodded, mirth accompanying his telepathic reply. _It seems so._

“And you say _Starscream_ thought this up?” Frenzy went on to ask.

“Sorta. He was tellin' Megatron that he needed to get Bonded, y'know, somethin' about not bein' around forever, yadda yadda.” Rumble shrugged. “A _lot_ happened while we were gone. He died, or something. Still not sure as far as details go. So, he was all, 'Maybe think about leavin' a heir,' only obviously he expected Lord Megatron to choose _him_ \--”

Frenzy's visor brightened. “Wait. An _heir_?”

Rumble blinked, realizing he'd steamrolled over the last significant detail in his eagerness to share Starscream's humiliating defeat. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Sparkling.”

The darker minicon looked to Soundwave, who began to telepathically explain what exactly Rumble meant. To his surprise, Frenzy interrupted him, as well. “Yeah, I know. It's like the Velocitronians. So you plan to do that?”

Soundwave nodded. _Outcome: uncertain. Too many variables present to determine one hundred percent success. Efforts will be made._

Frenzy nodded slowly. “Well, as long as it's not dangerous, I'm game if you are.” The more he thought about the entire situation, the more he approved of it. It seemed natural to imagine Soundwave and Megatron taking their teamwork to the next level. Soundwave had always been committed to the cause, and to Megatron. Now, their Lord was making a commitment back. He let these thoughts float freely through the bond. “Damn. I was not expecting to wake up to all've _this_. But if that works, it wouldn't hurt to improve our numbers.”

Everyone went quiet. It hadn't occurred to any of them that a successful sparking might pave the way for more. Where Megatron went, his soldiers followed if they could. It remained to be seen if he would let them follow him through _this_ process, but he had brought it to the table. Velocitron and Junkion were mere colony worlds, offshoots of Cybertron that had been cut off from the Well for millenia. While Junkion wasn't a particularly impressive example, Velocitron had managed to engulf its entire planet in the tide of its expansion.

Those mechs had used this process to make themselves mighty. It was possible that the potential lying in this entire affair could give the ragged remains of the Decepticon army the same unstoppable vitality.

This realization hung heavy in the air, and the team absorbed its implications silently. Rumble was the first to speak. “Yeah. Huh. Didn't think about that.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh, wow,” 404 said as he stepped through the doorway into the familiar confines of Switchgear's server room. “What a difference a day makes, right?”

He was referring to the change in temperature. In the aftermath of the battle, the ship's crew had been working, and a lot had changed while the frontliners were gone. The Nemesis had pulled itself free of the Amazon's humidity and returned to its much higher traveling altitude. The lower decks were once again mercifully cool. Switchgear looked over his shoulder, not terribly surprised to see that 404 was accompanied by Steve. “Yes, quite. The rainforest is an interesting place, but I _won't_ miss the weather.”

“I would say that I'm happy we left that river behind, but _apparently_ we're heading towards the ocean,” 404 said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall by the doorway.

“It's not the river's fault you don't know how to drive,” Steve said.

“Oh, Steve.” 404's voice was absolutely flat. “You're killing me. I'm dying over here.”

“Am I wrong?”

“That is not the point,” 404 replied, dodging the subject “The point is, you know full well I know how to drive. Am I the best front-liner? No, not really. Am I the best at inner-ship responsibilities? Probably not. But I can do one thing, and do it well. I can _drive_.” Steve stared at 404. 404 stared back. “Just not so much in the rainforest,” he amended.

Switchgear, by then, had turned to fully face the other two, his arms crossed over his chest. Despite the show of impatience, he was a good deal less annoyed than he pretended to be. He was getting quite used to these antics interrupting his work. “I'm so glad the two of you came all the way down here to establish that. Surely, you wouldn't have been able to do it without me here.”

“Just checking in,” Steve replied with a chuckle. “Making sure you're not suffering any lingering effects from that spark attack Megatron gave you.”

“That's Steve's thing. Checking in on people,” 404 quipped.

Switchgear and Steve both ignored him. “I've made a _miraculous_ recovery,” Switchgear said, his visor flickering in amusement. “And what about you? Scorponok gave you something of a scare, as I recall. If you hadn't leaped two feet in the air, he might very well have _touched_ you, you know.”

A good-natured laugh was Steve's initial response. “Fair enough, fair enough. I'm just not the biggest fan of... small, skittery things. Reminds me of scraplets.” He shuddered.

“Well, you have no reason to be afraid of Scorponok. Unless you're an Autobot. Or a human, apparently. He's a soldier, like you or me. Symbionts aren't _things_ , after all,” Switchgear pointed out.

“Switchgear is good at...” 404 began, but paused, unsure how to word the next bit. The other two drones glanced to him as he mulled the matter over. “Knowing things,” he concluded.

Switchgear gave a snort through his vents. “Surely, that will be my legacy. Not the fact that I keep the entire maintenance crew running smoothly--”

“Being really, really nerdy,” 404 went on.

“-- _or_ the fact that under my supervision we've managed to recycle over forty percent of our damaged and decommissioned parts, reducing the energy strain on the ship by almost a _quarter_ \--”

“Using phrases like 'forty percent' and 'energy strain' in everyday conversations...”

“--but that I, as you so eloquently put it, _know things._ Thank you, 404,” Switchgear finished dryly. “Also, you don't just _know_ things, you _learn_ them. Pick up a datapad every once in a while. We _have_ an archive, you know.”

“Switch! I couldn't move in on your act,” 404 said, placing a hand on his chest and adopting a mock-scandalized air.

Switchgear cracked at that, finally allowing himself a little laugh. “Besides, you got Steve's talent all wrong. His talent is catching the eye of dangerous commanding officers. I haven't yet decided,” he said, turning to look at Steve, “whether or not that's a good thing yet.”

Steve felt a surprising buzz of embarrassment at the back of his mind. It wasn't as if he was _unhappy_ with the way things had turned out so far, but he could hardly be said to have caught anyone's eye. Not yet, anyway. “Once a week,” he replied sheepishly. “I'm scheduled to bring him his fuel once a week, now.”

“Way to go, bucko,” 404 leaned forward to elbow Steve gently.

“Look, it's—I guess he just figures I'm a useful contact. I helped him out before. Well, you also did, Switch, but you know what I mean. I think...” He tilted his head. “I think he realized that there's a lot about all of us, all of _this_ \--” He made a sweeping gesture to the room around him. “Life on the ship that he never knew was there. Maybe it'll be a good thing, y'know?”

“Could be,” 404 agreed. “He noticed you. Maybe with time he'll notice _all_ of us.” He gave a small, exasperated vent. “Gotta say, it would be nice if the folks up the ladder treated us like _people_ once in a while.” He didn't linger on the subject, not wanting to bring the mood down. “Anyway, I distinctly recall someone yelling, 'I have a chance!' before he ran out through the door I happen to be standing next to. Given up on delusions of romantic grandeur?”

Once again, Steve felt sheepish. “Well. No... not given up. Just adjusted my expectations, I guess. You've got to be realistic, right?” He shrugged, and said, “Still. There's hope.” He spoke those last words in a peculiar tone of voice: soft, but determined. Steve might have adjusted his expectations, but if there was even a flicker of a chance, he would be ready.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck,” Switchgear spoke up, once again joining the conversation proper. “I respect our superiors, and I am truly grateful for their guidance and authority, but with all due respect I really hope I don't get involved in any... any _shenanigans_ again anytime soon.” He fixed Steve with a pointed look. He was keenly aware of where all these “shenanigans” had come from. “I am happy to stay down here and do what I do. If I never see a commanding officer face to face again, I assure you, I'll be content.”

“Not much chance of that here,” Steve agreed.

Switchgear turned to pat the bank of screens beside him. “No,” he agreed. “But my lot isn't for everyone, I guess.” He looked to Steve again, tilting his head slightly. “I know my place. It's here. But you...” The drone shook his head slowly. “You, I think, might be destined for greater things.”

Steve had the grace to look embarrassed again. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” he protested. Switchgear just made a thoughtful “hmm” sound and let the matter lie. A few moments later, they were wrapping up their brief conversation, and as Steve and 404 stepped into the hallway outside of the server room, 404 nudged Steve gently.

“I think he's right,” he said. “I mean, he's an egghead. _I'd_ listen to him.”

“Yeah, but you're also the mech who had to be fished out of the Amazon River. Not sure I should be taking advice from you.” This earned him a gesture stronger than a nudge, but they were both laughing as they took their leave of the lower decks.

 

* * *

 

The next handful of days passed quickly. The Decepticons needed time to regroup before they launched another assault on MECH, and while all of this was happening, the were steering the Nemesis north, heading out over the Atlantic Ocean. Soundwave had work to do, and he spent most of his spare time with his symbionts. It hadn't taken Rumble and Frenzy long to adjust. True, they had traveled for years in pursuit of the Nemesis since their departure from Tortuga, but they had spent the majority of their trek through space in stasis. As far as they were concerned, all the intervening time might as well have not even happened.

They still couldn't integrate with Soundwave's current frame, but that was a low priority for the moment. The option of hard-linking was there if they needed it. They seemed to find this satisfying; indeed, Soundwave wondered if they planned on re-integrating fully at all. The twins were given the opportunity to familiarize themselves with the ship that was to be their new home. They touched bases mentally throughout the day as Soundwave worked. One moment he'd be standing silently on the bridge of the Nemesis, running checks on current and impending weather, the flight routes of human aircraft that might cross their path, and local news reports to make sure the ship had not been spotted in any way, and the next a mental nudge, rather like a tap on the shoulder, would slide into his thoughts.

_The drones are watching this game show on a big screen they brought into the mess hall. Nerds._

Soundwave noted, with amusement, that this missive had come from Rumble directly from the mess hall in question, and despite his apparent disdain for the drones' chosen form of entertainment, he remained in the same location over the course of the next hour and a half.

It was a comfortable arrangement, and one Soundwave looked forward to getting used to.

He kept Megatron in his thoughts, as well. Despite Starscream's hopes, his wounds didn't force him to rest again, and he'd remained in control of the ship from the moment he'd stepped out of the medbay. The patches came off after the second day, and from then on fresh weld-marks still criss-crossed his side. If they caused him any discomfort, he disdained it. His objective had not changed since their last mission: retrieve the Combinatoric, if possible. Indeed, he seemed even more focused on the search, either because of lack of distractions (they didn't have to worry whether they would recover Frenzy, after all), or because being shot dead-on with a ship's laser had _irritated_ him, and he'd decided to show the humans who they were messing with.

Honestly, it was probably a little of both.

Soundwave was equally eager to do so as well, and for more or less the same reasons. Guiding the Nemesis to open water was the top priority, and as such most of their interactions over the course of those days was regarding only professional matters, but Soundwave found he enjoyed it. Communicating with Megatron and setting forth their expectations and boundaries had been important in establishing this tentative new facet of their relationship, but in some way, he felt that _this_ was, too. Working as a team, united in their determination and motivations, felt good in a way that Soundwave hadn't quite experienced before.

They would both want some time just for one another soon, especially in the wake of how their respective roles had expanded, but at the moment they both wanted to turn their faces straight towards the enemy and show them the full wrath of those they had dared to slight. Soundwave couldn't be sure, but he thought to himself that maybe this feeling was what others meant when they talked about the sensation of 'romance.'

He wasn't entirely right, but he wasn't entirely wrong, either.

 

* * *

 

A brief interruption of Soundwave's work came in the form of Knock Out.

“It's a simple procedure,” he said, passing the datapad over to Soundwave. “A lot has changed since we left deep space. Energon from Earth has its... quirks.”

Soundwave glanced down to the datapad briefly, wirelessly drawing the information from the device rather than reading it. Knock Out had come to him, leaving the medbay to meet Soundwave at his workspace, claiming that Rumble and Frenzy needed a but of a tune-up. The procedure itself was not dangerous, but it _was_ a bit lengthy. Until then, the dual distractions of the crew being busy with the search for Frenzy and Knock Out's obligations to his more urgent patients had kept the issue on the back-burner.

“Mostly just a few precautions. Small adjustments to the fuel intake system, optimization of the finer actuators to this planet's specific gravity—not something that would bother you or I, of course, but they're a lot smaller. And,” Knock Out held up a finger. “Laying the groundwork for an alt-mode conversion.”

Soundwave hadn't had a proper, thorough discussion with Rumble and Frenzy about the alternate modes they would take up soon, but that was a matter that could wait for now. Neither of them were in a rush, and nor was Soundwave.

“It's an overnight stay, nothing more.” Knock Out was watching Soundwave intently, optics flickering over his form. It was apparent that he was trying to gauge the mood of the typically-inscrutable third-in-command, and Soundwave got the impression that one of the reasons Knock Out had waited so long to bring this up was that he anticipated Soundwave resisting being separated from his symbionts for so long. He put the doctor's uncertainty to rest with a simple nod.

Rumble and Frenzy were equally as passe with the news once Soundwave had left to gather them, but the reminder that they had an alt-mode conversion coming up excited them both. They almost immediately plunged themselves into a deeper study of Earth vehicles.

“Well, you're a flier, now,” Rumble said as they made their way to the medbay, accompanied by Soundwave. “So maybe _we_ better find somethin' that flies, too. Most everythin' that flies is... kinda big, though.”

Frenzy shrugged. “Motorbikes are kind of cool.”

“Are you serious? They look like sticks with wheels,” Rumble said.

“And what would you say we should be?” Frenzy shot back. “A quad-copter? An ultra-lite? You wanna talk sticks, look at _those_.”

Rumble subsided for a moment. “Well, _I_ still wanna fly. Earth doesn't have anything decent. We can just pick something from home.”

“We're supposed to be in _disguise_ , you moron.”

“Lord Megatron's got a Cybertronian alt,” Rumble pointed out.

Frenzy opened his mouth to counter, but shut it again. His brother had made a decent argument. Luckily, by that time they'd approached the medbay, putting the argument on indefinite hold. The doors hissed open, and as they drew inside, the group was greeted with an elaborate flourish from Knock Out. “Gentlemen,” he said, sweeping his arm in a graceful arc to indicate the med-berths. “Your accommodations await.”

 

* * *

 

Soundwave left for his quarters shortly after that, once again accompanied by only two of his symbionts, who disconnected as they crossed the threshold. The feline immediately took possession of the berth, and Laserbeak perched nearby. “I'm surprised they didn't consider a technimal alt,” Ravage said, in a flat and somewhat sarcastic tone that suggested he had not been surprised whatsoever. “There are some Earth creatures that are as big as _they_ are.”

“ _And as thick-headed,”_ Laserbeak chimed in.

Soundwave let a burst of mirth seep through the bond, which really, at that point, only extended to the others in the room. Rumble and Frenzy's presences were already very muffled, which was a little bit unnerving at first. Soundwave had just gotten them back, after all. It was ridiculous to be anxious over the matter, because they weren't far away at all, and perfectly safe, but he couldn't quite keep the feeling from buzzing in the back of his mind.

Ravage noticed. “They're tough, Souundwave. Tougher than any of us gave them credit for, apparently,” he added dryly.

 _Acknowledged,_ Soundwave replied. He was still a little irritated at himself for being so easily unsettled. He mentally clamped down on his end of the bond to prevent his own feelings from disturbing Ravage and Laserbeak's rest. The last week or so had wreaked _havoc_ on his normally tightly-controlled emotions. As soon as everything settled down and he could resume his life with reasonable level-headedness, he'd be happy. That didn't help him for tonight, though.

“If you need to get your mind off it,” Ravage spoke again, resting his chin on his paws and stretching out on the berth, clearly enjoying his opportunity to have the bed all to himself for the moment. “You could go talk to your Intended. That's what you do, right? Support each other.”

Soundwave was hesitant. He didn't need to turn to someone else for every minor irritation that seeped into his subconscious. Megatron wouldn't expect something like that from him, and Soundwave was unwilling to allow himself to consider it, either.

“It's not the same thing,” Ravage replied. “Nobody's asking you to be coddled or anything. You're just...” He paused, searching for the right words. “Really, you're just going to him for what he's given you all along. Guidance, maybe.” He tilted his head. “Strength.”

Once again, Soundwave found himself unable to counter his symbiont's argument. He stood there for a moment, silently mulling the matter over, before he raised his screen slightly to regard the feline with amused resignation. Satisfied that he'd won the discussion, Ravage closed his optics and flicked his tail in lazy acknowledgment.

“ _We'll be here when you get back,”_   Laserbeak chimed in.

 

* * *

 

And so, Soundwave once again found himself at Megatron's quarters. In the past week or so, he'd spent more time here than he had in the previous millions of years' worth of service, not that he'd really had a _reason_ to back then. Megatron was sitting on the edge of his berth when Soundwave entered, reading a datapad. “Yes?”

Soundwave paused. He hadn't actually come to Megatron's quarters with any easily-definable purpose, other than perhaps a simple desire just to be there. His first impulse at the thought was that it wasn't a sufficient reason for taking up his Lord's time, but that instinct was a remainder of the past. Things had been different then. Soundwave had every right to request the simple presence of his Intended. _Company,_ he eventually replied.

This seemed good enough for Megatron. He nodded to Soundwave and set the datapad aside. Soundwave took a few steps into the room and paused before crossing the final few, seating himself on the berth beside his Lord. For a moment they sat in surprisingly comfortable silence, and Soundwave was reminded of the night in the medbay, when he'd stood by Megatron's side, speaking without speaking.

Eventually, Megatron broke the silence. “A week ago,” he said, “We were scrabbling for energon like starving Turbofoxes. And the Autobots were our fleas.” Megatron allowed for a soft scoff. “Now, we stand poised to take what might be one of the greatest artifacts of the Thirteen for ourselves.”

A silent burst of data was Soundwave's reply; their next big lead was in Florida. The Autobots had managed to narrow down the first base at about the same speed that the Decepticons had, which was frankly a little surprising, but now that the Decepticons knew their adversaries were actively involved in the search, they'd be ready.

“They had one opportunity to successfully intercept the weapon before us,” Megatron agreed. “The Autobots, tenacious though they are, can't withstand the sheer might of an full-scale assault. They might try, but they risk much. They would either succumb to our forces, or to MECH's.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “And whether the Combinatoric is there or not, I intend to leave a crater in place of that base.”

Soundwave couldn't agree more.

They fell into simple conversation then, mostly discussing the plans that were being made, reviewing the work they'd done for the week. They'd made as many plans as they could, but they needed a better understanding of their target before they proceeded any further. Airachnid had been chosen to run reconnaissance (and she seemed eager for the chance to get in the air, seeing as she'd sat the last battle out), and as soon as she returned with further intel, the strike could begin in earnest.

It wasn't long before Megatron was on his feet, too restless to sit still. Soundwave couldn't help but notice the slight involuntary flicker of pain in Megatron's field when he passed by the berth. His wound hadn't yet fully healed, even though he'd disdained to acknowledge it. Without really thinking about it, Soundwave wirelessly shared his concern with Megatron in an quick and thoughtless burst of data. Megatron turned, looking somewhat surprised, and Soundwave regretted it immediately.

For a moment Megatron just stared, his expression inscrutable. Then he relaxed slightly and walked over to Soundwave. “I suppose,” he said simply, gruffly, “I will have to get used to that.”

Faint amusement fluttered through Soundwave's EM field, and he stood. Megatron hadn't said it in so many words, but he was willing to listen to Soundwave's unconscious concerns. Both of them needed to remember every now and then that they were dealing with a much more level playing field. Megatron's acceptance of this (brusque though it had been) was heartening.

Soundwave reached up, pausing for a moment, hesitant, before he let his slim fingers brush over the weld-marks crisscrossing his Lord's side. No pain came rushing to meet the action, and Megatron seemed content to let the gesture continue. Once again, he found himself drawn to the physical reminder of what Megatron had done for his symbiont. Seeing them, tracing them, reminded him that the Decepticons had won that battle. Yet again, the scars reminded him of the strength and will to live of the mech beneath them.

The sense of victory that Megatron's first words had kindled returned once more. He felt proud and curiously humble at the same time, standing so near Megatron. It was more than just permission to be close that struck Soundwave, but rather the desire that accompanied it. He replied at last, giving a slight nod. _Bondmate: protects._

The warlord's optics flickered, but he didn't immediately speak. He was becoming used to the silent communication between the two of them. That was apparently one aspect of their growing relationship that Soundwave had imparted to him. Soundwave shared this information, and was rewarded with a low, rolling chuckle.

What happened next was involuntary. Standing so close to Megatron, delicately trailing his fingertips down the silver mech's side, the sound felt more like physical sensation. It rumbled under Soundwave's fingertips and sent faint staticky prickles over his plating. He felt his EM field jump slightly, a short burst of a sensation he couldn't quiet define as anything other than raw approval. Soundwave was startled by its intensity, and Megatron was startled by Soundwave's reaction.

They stood there for a moment, teetering almost comically on the brink of indecision, unsure whether to acknowledge it. Then, Megatron reached up, tipping Soundwave's chin up. An unspoken question hung between them. A little bit of Soundwave's silence had rubbed off on Megatron, but what aspect of Soundwave had Megatron influenced in return?

Then Soundwave brushed his fingers a little higher, trailing them up Megatron's side, and Megatron reached out to return the gesture, releasing Soundwave's chin-guard and slowly dragging the tips of his claws over Soundwave's armor. There was another moment of questioning silence, even as their hands continued to move. Megatron was the one who broke it, stepping closer and looming over Soundwave, overwhelming the smaller mech with the force of his presence as he pulled him closer. This wasn't exactly how they'd expected their discussion to reach its conclusion, but neither mech was complaining, and as long as the option remained in the playing field, they both seemed willing to explore it.

Soundwave was just sure to gently nudge his end of the bond shut, for Ravage and Laserbeak's sake.

Megatron's touches were already becoming more insistent, and this time Soundwave was determined to properly return the affections. He traced the harsh blade-like patterns of Megatron's armor, slid his fingers along the edges and let them slip beneath. Each time they delved into those seams and gaps, brushing against the deeper warmth of his Lord, Soundwave felt a thrill go through him. Megatron couldn't be called anything like vulnerable, but to be able, to be _allowed_ , to touch those softer places was an honor.

The plating on his chest gave an instinctive twitch outward, preparing to release his feelers, but Soundwave pulled it shut again, momentarily mortified. Megatron made a low noise of disapproval and moved to hook one claw into the seam there, running the sharp-tipped digit back and forth coaxingly. “Open,” he rasped.

Somewhat hesitantly, Soundwave obeyed, letting his feelers slither out around Megatron's hand. The warlord twisted his wrist so that they brushed against his fingertips as they moved, a gesture of acceptance, and Soundwave felt his self-consciousness stripping away. The tentacles surged forward, eagerly slithering their way up to explore Megatron's frame. The attention of so many delicate appendages soon had Megatron squirming a bit, and he pulled away long enough to growl, “The berth.”

Soundwave didn't need to be told twice. Megatron sat and moved back slightly, likely meaning to re-position himself properly once Soundwave joined him, but the spy was up and practically crawling into his lap before he could move. Megatron made a rough sound of amusement and laid back further, content to let the slimmer mech straddle his hips, as long as he was mindful not to put too much pressure on the weld-marks crossing his side.

Soundwave sat up straight, the blank screen of his face trained down at Megatron, his long arms braced against the other mech's chest, fingers resting on either side of the Decepticon badge there, and all four of his data-cables moving in concert over Megatron's frame. The two mechs took a moment to mutually enjoy the sight their partner presented to them before Soundwave leaned forward slightly, and spoke.

“My liege.” His rough voice, overlaid by sonorous tones, was almost reverently soft.

Megatron shuddered, and responded by returning his attention to Soundwave's frame, dragging his clawtips up along the plating of Soundwave's inner thighs, not stopping until he cupped the other mech's codpiece with one hand, pushing insistently up. Soundwave rolled his hips into the pressure, once again finding a surprisingly easy rhythm. When Megatron ground the heel of his palm against the slimmer mech's interface panels, Soundwave bared himself with a _snck._

Megatron seemed happy to let Soundwave continue rutting against his hand, taking in the sight of the other mech's pressurizing cord, feeling the soft give of his valve... and then Megatron froze, blinking. He pressed upward again, and Soundwave quivered, making a soft, wordless sound of approval. “You're sealed,” Megatron said simply.

There was a moment of hesitation. Soundwave nodded. He wasn't entirely sure what he was expected to say in response to that. He figured that Megatron's next move would be to take care of that little detail, but instead a thoughtful look had settled over the warlord's features. “This... would be more enjoyable for you if you had this removed.”

Soundwave's head cocked sharply to the side. He had assumed—they'd _all_ assumed—that Megatron would want to claim his seal as something like a right, but instead of possessive eagerness he was being met with something more brooding and calculating. Soundwave sent an interrogative ping, a messy scramble of data, conveying his confusion over the subject.

Megatron rumbled. “I am not interested in what you have or haven't done before now. I did not choose you because I thought you were _untouched._ I chose you because you are loyal.” Megatron's hand twisted to rub his thumb against the sensitive wiring where Soundwave's thigh met his hips. “Because you are vicious,” he hissed, dragging his claws over the other mech's aft. “Because you are ruthless in your dedication.” Soundwave quivered at the pride and possessiveness in that voice. As far as Decepticon pillow talk went, it didn't get much more arousing than that.

His data-cables tightened around the other mech as Megatron leaned up slightly, pushing his hips up against Soundwave's. “And I intend to reward all of that. Thoroughly. _Completely_ ,” he hissed the last work, grinding back up once more. Soundwave was practically writhing on top of him at that point. He wouldn't have been able to say whether the movements of Megatron's body were affecting him more, or if the other mech's voice was. “The gesture is... appreciated. But I would rather you not find this experience lacking.”

If Megatron was trying to ease Soundwave into a decision, or simple understanding, he wasn't doing a very good job of it, because his teasing hints of almost-pleasure were driving the slimmer mech up the wall. Soundwave managed to convey his acknowledgement in a data burst, and this was immediately followed by a second, the message of which was more or less: _I understand what you're saying, but if we stop now,_ _ **again,**_ _I think I'm going to lose my mind._ He was willing to give the matter of his seal more thought, but not at the price of denying the anticipation and desire wrenching at his spark.

Megatron's optics flickered. “Stopping? I never said anything about stopping.” He shifted his position slightly, and with a click, retracted his panels. Soundwave couldn't quite see what was going on down there because of his current position, but as he slid back, bracing himself on his knees, he realized that Megatron had only actually slid aside the panel over _one_ part of his interface equipment: his valve.

Soundwave stared for a moment before his knees shook and gave way. He flopped in a somewhat undignified manner on the berth between Megatron's legs, looking up at his Lord. He wasn't the most experienced of mechs to begin with, and this odd reversal of what he'd expected had thrown all of his expectations out of the window. Even his tentacles had stilled, frozen where they looped lazily around Megatron's frame.

The warlord grinned fiercely back. “Well?” Soundwave looked from his face, down to Megatron's valve, and then to his face again. Megatron gave a grave nod. “It will work. Trust me.”

Soundwave reached forward, hesitated, and then reached again, stroking his slim fingers over the lips of Megatron's valve. It was strange, unbelievably strange, to be feeling such softness, such vulnerability _anywhere_ on his Lord's frame. It was also oddly appealing. Megatron was already slick to the touch, and Soundwave allowed the liquid glide to draw his fingers in past the rim, into the hot, wet channel of the larger mech's port.

Megatron rumbled his approval, and Soundwave began to explore in earnest, stroking the inner walls, testing the give of the calipers, marveling in the feel of the soft, pliable lining. Apparently Megatron found the sight of him so incredibly focused on the task entertaining, as his overpowering field rippled with a mixture of humor and arousal. Soundwave responded by continuing the ministrations of his feelers, and in response Megatron gave one long, slow, sinuous arch of his powerful frame, reveling in the sensations coursing through him—before he jerked with a hiss of pain as he put pressure on the weld-marks at his side.

Soundwave froze, head cocked questioningly. Megatron made a sound like a snort. “I think that we would have found ourselves in this situation out of necessity,” he said, displaying a surprising amount of eloquence for a mech with several fingers stuffed up his valve. It was true, though—his movements would have been quite limited if they had decided to do things a _different_ way.

The smaller mech rose to his knees, expressing a wordless burst of doubt—their sizes were quite different, and he was unsure if he would be able to _satisfy_ his Lord, as it were, but Megatron just shook his head. “I will adjust.” Soundwave had never found reason to doubt Megatron's assurances before, and he didn't do so now. Instead he re-positioned his feelers, gently raising the larger mech's hips at the most convenient angle and twining around his legs, spreading them. He aligned himself, and with one last questioning glance up (and a nod from Megatron) he pushed forward with his hips, slowly sinking in.

The sensation was overpowering. Megatron was hot inside, hot and slick and _perfect_. Soundwave shuddered, tightening his tentacles' grip on Megatron's thighs and pulling him closer, pushing himself deeper into that welcoming port. His first attempts to proceed were clumsy and ineffective, requiring a bit of shifting of weight on both their parts as well a few more adjustments of his tentacles to find a place where they both had proper leverage. As soon as that was taken care of, and after a few jerky, uneven stabs, Soundwave finally found a rhythm.

He used his hips and the grip of his data-cables to guide Megatron into each thrust, keeping the movements smooth and rolling so as not to painfully jar the larger mech's side. The tentacles that weren't anchoring Megatron in place roamed over the warlord's frame, aimlessly slithering and caressing, touching as much of the powerful frame as they could reach. Megatron seemed content to allow this, his powerful field thrumming with pleasure, his bright red optics narrowed in unabashed lust as the sight of Soundwave so thoroughly entangled with him.

Just as Soundwave found himself growing comfortable with the rhythm, he felt a sudden and intense contraction of the hot wet walls around his cord, and he almost doubled over, releasing a low, wordless sound of surprise and lust. He was dimly aware of a low, pleased hiss from the head of the berth, and then the valve rippled around his length again, stroking it from root to tip in one easy, gliding motion. “As I said,” Megatron rumbled, “I will adjust.”

Soundwave struggled to recover his wits. If he had thought that this reversal had meant anything like Megatron submitting to him, he was wrong. Megatron surrounded and smothered him, utterly in control of Soundwave's pleasure and _generous_ with it. He watched hungrily as Soundwave obediently fell into the rhythm set by the rippling squeezes of his valve. Each thrust forward was a writhing motion, and his entire slim frame was shaking from the intensity of their coupling.

“So very, _very_ satisfying,” Megatron growled, feeling a shiver work its way through his own frame. He pushed back against the other mech, goading him into moving faster. He didn't care if the way their hips clanged together sent little tingles of pain through his side. He could barely feel them, not under the delicious wet friction inside of him. Megatron arched slightly, his eyes mere crimson slits as he issued a single command. “ _Harder_.”

There was no resisting that voice. Soundwave arched over Megatron's body, his tentacles shifting and tightening their grip, his entire body a tense curve of concentration, and he pounded into Megatron's port, driving his hips relentlessly against his larger partner's, burying himself into that sucking heat. He couldn't wrap his mind around any thoughts, and he wasn't sure if he was acting out of willing submission and a desire to give Megatron pleasure, or out of a visceral need to bury himself in that valve, chasing his own overload. The lines where his will met his Lord's had blurred to inscrutability, but he didn't _care_ , the world had narrowed down to their bodies crashing together, to the low rumbling groan working its way up from deep within Megatron's chest to spill out of his mouth, to the sudden sharp squeeze of the valve around him, and the rush of hot fluid that followed.

Megatron's overload was powerful, thundering through his EM field and smothering the sensations against Soundwave's own field. The slimmer mech writhed and pushed himself as deep into Megatron as he could, holding himself there as overload wracked his frame. His tentacles tightened possessively on the warlord's larger body and he emptied himself inside of his Lord, reveling in visceral satisfaction as Megatron's port milked his cord for every last hot rush of transfluid.

The last few twinges of pleasure send shudders through their bodies, but finally, the aftershocks released them, and they both relaxed, venting heavily. The grip of Soundwave's tangled feelers loosened slightly, and he raised his screen to take in the sight of his Lord lying before him, regarding the smaller mech with optics hooded in gratification. Neither of them spoke, but as the haze of lust faded form their minds, a thought passed between them: _that was unexpected._

Unexpected, perhaps, but not an unpleasant surprise by any stretch of the imagination. Spontaneity wasn't something that Soundwave often indulged in, but if liaisons like _these_ were the end result, he could get used to being spontaneous. Soundwave drew away from Megatron's port, shivering as he did. Megatron shifted, pulling himself into a more seated position, and reached out, drawing Soundwave closer. The warlord's great frame curved forward, and he lowered his head to touch his forehelm against Soundwave's.

Soundwave pressed back, slowly withdrawing his tentacles, letting them linger over his lover's frame as he did. They sat in silence then, unconcerned with anything but one another. Their EM fields mingled, dilated and humming with mutual satisfaction. Soundwave hadn't experienced a raw affection quite like this. It wasn't like the bond he shared with his symbionts. It wasn't greater or lesser than that attachment. It was just... different. It certainly wasn't something he'd looked for or expected to find.

He'd found it, though, and for that, he couldn't help but be grateful.

 


	15. Plans, Portends, and Parallax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By now, these multi-month waits seem to be par for the course... the last semester had me very busy, so I once again thank everyone for their patience! Hopefully I'll be able to usher in some more chapters during summer break. We're moving into the final act of the 'fic now, so maybe that'll help me get this finished in something resembling a timely manner! 
> 
> I wanna say, thanks again to everyone who leaves reviews, comments, kudos, or just plain reads this! Sorry I haven't been able to reply to everyone individually, but I really do read all of your encouraging words, and it means a lot to me! I continue to be humbled by how supportive and above all, PATIENT you lot are! :) 
> 
> Squicks in this chapter: Rampant dorkiness, the likes of which we've not yet seen, but that's about it.

 

**Chapter 14 – Plans, Portends, and Parallax**

 

Silas's face was absolutely stony as he advanced through the shattered battlefield, his boots crunching with a steady, even rhythm over the scattered gravel and shards of splinters and glass. His personal navigator paced at his side, casting his gaze restlessly about, wary of any lurking danger that the smoking wreckage might still hide.

News of the attack had come while they were on the move. They'd been traveling by car to keep things low-profile, and the navigator had pulled over onto a service road when he'd gotten the first distress signal. It had taken a moment to piece together exactly _what_ was happening, but as soon as they'd established that the Arkansas base was under attack by Decepticon and Autobot alike, the navigator had made his recommendation. “Sir,” he'd said tersely, “We should turn back, or at least keep our distance.”

Silas had given this a moment of thought before shaking his head. “No. We've dealt with recalcitrant aliens before.”

“Not on this scale, I don't think.” Regardless, his leader would not be dissuaded, so the navigator was obliged to drive them forward. As it turned out, by the time they arrived, the battle had ended. It was difficult to say who had won, in the aftermath. The Decepticons had retreated, but not before they managed to steal some of MECH's Nicaragua salvage, salvage that had turned out to be, of all things a _Cybertronian_. MECH had ultimately driven off their assailants, though, and even apparently badly wounded one of the Autobots.

The Decepticons and Autobots had left none of their own wounded or dead behind, as by now they were both aware of MECH's interest in obtaining Cybertronians for dissection. The only possible salvage that MECH could use from the battle had been the charred remains of one of the drones, which had been it dead-on by the tesla cannon. In the end, those involved had decided to declare it a wash. They might not have crumbled under the assault, but the mountainside was a huge mess, with very few of the above-ground buildings still standing. Furthermore, the site was compromised, and they wouldn't be able to stay. The base would have to be gutted and deserted, and they'd need to clear the area of any trace of their presence, _fast_.

“The inner base is mostly untouched, sir,” one of the field commanders said as Silas and his navigator approached the entrance. He fell into step with his leader, speaking as he went. “Two aliens infiltrated the base by drilling through from one of the abandoned mine shafts.” When Silas cocked a brow questioningly, the operative clarified, “They were small, sir. Apparently not much bigger than a human.”

This was an intriguing new development. MECH was primarily interested in powerful technology, weighty advantages that could top the scales in their favor, but extracting and securing a much smaller machine would be a lot easier to wrangle. “Interesting. It seems out visitors are surprising us more and more each day,” Silas replied, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You said that they made off with some of our tech?”

“Some of _their_ tech, to be precise. A single piece of the Nicaragua salvage. One of the pods. And it turns out that the pod had _another_ of the smaller machines inside of it.” The field operative shrugged. “Looks like they were rescuing one of their own. How they managed to track it down... I couldn't say.”

“Where was the last pod taken?”

“It's still in transit. We've got it at a temporary holding facility in Mississippi. In light of recent events, it might be a good idea to keep it on the move. If they decide they want this one, too, it'll be harder for them to track down,” the operative suggested.

Silas considered the matter for a moment. He half-turned, taking in the sight of the blasted mountainside from inside the arch of the underground facility's entrance. The warring aliens had caused most of the damage, either purposefully or collaterally through their infighting, but from the point at which he stood, it was obvious to see that the tesla cannon—their secret weapon—had had the most devastating impact on the fight. Two long furrows had been carved into the earth, lined with scorched and blackened debris.

“I think it will only be a matter of time before they find what they're looking for,” Silas eventually concluded. “And it's clear that we can drive them off, if we mobilize quickly enough. No. I have a better idea.” A cold smile spread across his face.

The operative was somewhat confused. “Sir?”

“There's not much we can do when we're faced with a unexpected attack,” Silas went on. It was true. The Arkansas base had been fortified by being largely underground, and without the presence of the tesla cannon, the entire above-ground portion of the facility might have been razed to the ground. MECH didn't have the resources to keep _all_ of their bases suitably armed against alien incursion, _all_ the time. “So, what we need to do is arrange for an _expected_ attack. You say the last pod is in Mississippi?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Send it further east. If they want this pod so badly, then we'll show them where it is. And this time,” he looked over his shoulder, back towards his lackey. “We'll be ready.”

 

* * *

 

Things had been less peaceful back in the Autobot's headquarters immediately following the attack on the MECH base. Fowler had been waiting for the Autobots as they came back from Arkansas through the groundbridge with their collective frames sagging from the weight of their defeat. Ratchet had only been given a few moments' notice that a wounded comrade was coming in. He was already frantically setting up equipment when the team arrived.

A few hours later saw Bumblebee stable and recharging. The rest of the Autobots had tended their wounds in relative silence, while Optimus delivered a brisk report to Fowler, who was already on the phone with cooperative military forces in the area of the MECH base. Even Wheeljack, who was typically restless in the confines of the base, carried a somewhat subdued air. He followed Bulkhead as the larger mech retreated down one of the hallways leading deeper into the mountain, offering, in his own way, support.

“All things considered,” Optimus concluded, “we are fortunate. Bumblebee is safe, for now, and the Decepticons quit the battlefield shortly after we did. In all likelihood, they do not have the Combinatoric. They have merely recovered Soundwave's final lost symbiont.”

Fowler sighed and snapped his cell phone shut, weariness seeming to outpace his usually constant buzz of exasperation. “Well, you did what you could, Prime. They're not sending the boys in directly until we have more backup, but they've set up some blockades. Hopefully we'll catch them on their way out.” MECH was a wily foe, and if anyone could slip the net that the military had tried to set, it would be them. The risk of their possessing additional alien weaponry was too high to send human foot-soldiers into the base while it was still hot, though. “Guess that means we'll need to start looking again.”

He took his leave shortly after. By then, midday was approaching. The Decepticons were undoubtedly licking their own wounds, as well, so nobody was sent out on patrol. Arcee, Optimus, and Ratchet were the only three mechs remaining in the central chamber, and after a long period of pensive silence, Arcee spoke. “Should we contact the kids now, or wait? Raf's going to be worried.”

Optimus vented slowly. “Tonight. It is safe for them to return to the base.” Arcee nodded and hopped up, striding off to tell Bulkhead. They'd kept the children away days after Rumble had gone, just to be certain that their position wasn't compromised. “If the Decepticons had learned our location, they undoubtedly would have struck by now, rather than mustering their forces to attack the MECH base. Megatron himself was on the ground during the fighting; there can be no question that they took this campaign seriously.”

Arcee paused mid-step, her optics flickering. She's only been a few steps away from leaving the main room entirely, but Optimus's words had caught her attention. “That reminds me. During the end, after Bumblebee got hit—the last blast was meant for Frenzy.”

“Well, obviously they missed,” Ratchet chimed in, his voice gruff, “otherwise Soundwave would have razed that base to the cinders.”

“They didn't _really_ miss,” Arcee went on, shaking her head. “Megatron took the blast _for_ him.” Optimus and Ratchet both looked her way, plainly startled. “He dove right out of the sky. We didn't see where he came from, he was just... _there_. He landed right in front of Frenzy. If he hadn't, the little glitch would've been cooked.”

Optimus frowned slightly, but said nothing. Ratchet spoke up, instead. “How badly was he injured?”

“Couldn't tell. He wasn't in great shape when we hightailed it out of there, but he had all kinds of backup on the way.” Megatron was a hard mech to put down; Arcee knew that very well. “Still, it was just... strange.”

“Clearly, Megatron values Soundwave's symbionts more than we had originally anticipated,” Optimus said slowly. Something nagged at his mind, just out of his mental grasp. He remembered the showdown in Nicaragua, where Megatron and Soundwave had stood side-by-side, and the sight of Megatron's face twisting in a fury deeper than any Optimus could readily recall when the Prime had struck Soundwave down. He knew his foes well; goodness knew he'd been fighting them long enough. Something was _different_ , but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. “Perhaps he considers the bond between a carrier and a symbiont a sacred one.”

“Sacred?” Ratchet asked, his tone wryly amused.

“This _is_ the mech who roused an army of terrorcons and, if I'm not _mistaken,_ jabbed himself through the spark with Dark Energon itself,” Arcee added, “just to see if it would make him more powerful.”

There was a pause. “Point,” Optimus conceded.

“Either way, I guess it's not our business,” Arcee shrugged. “We've got more important things to worry about right now, anyway.”

They did. As Soundwave helped Frenzy adjust to life on the Nemesis, and explored new facets of his relationship with his Intended, the Autobots worked tirelessly away, chasing down their likeliest lead. The memory of Megatron's odd behavior was deemed unimportant and, in time, set aside completely.

 

* * *

 

Soundwave had originally planned to return to his quarters that evening. After he and Megatron had let their frames cool and set about cleaning themselves up, he'd jacked into the ship's surveillance systems for a quick check of his own room. Ravage was sprawled out all over the bed, lying on his back with his paws folded up against his chest, the very picture of feline bliss. Laserbeak hadn't moved from her perch, and the sharp planes of her body were held at relaxed angles, indicating that she, too, was still asleep.

It was a relief to know that Soundwave hadn't woken them with his _activities,_ and he couldn't help but feel the faintest muted flicker of amusement at how much his absence was _not_ interrupting his symbionts' sleep in even the slightest. He switched to the medbay cameras, checking in on Rumble and Frenzy, who were recharging peacefully on their slabs, plugged into a small handful of medical monitors.

Soundwave realized that he wouldn't really be missed if he stayed. It wasn't an unpleasant realization in the least, it was just not something he'd experienced before. He'd looked to his Intended then, conveying the results of his search in a silent burst of data. There was no request tagging along with his message, just his observations.

Megatron nodded, and then said, simply, “Stay.”

So, Soundwave did.

 

* * *

 

The pre-dawn hours found Steve up early and wandering through the myriad halls and passageways of the Nemesis, datapad in hand as he doled out the weekly assignments for his comrades. His conversation with his friends the day before had given him a lot to think about. Somewhere inside him, he knew that something was changing, and he wasn't sure whether to be intimidated by it or invigorated by it. _It's been a hell of a week for everyone,_ he mused to himself ruefully, sighing softly through his vents. On the heels of this thought he rounded a corner and nearly ran into an Eradicon, a large fellow who also had a datapad in his claws.

The Eradicon leaped back. “Whoa! Sorry, Steve, didn't see you there.”

“Hey, Airstream,” Steve replied with a little wave. “Good to see you back on your feet.”

“Can't keep a good much down!” The flier perked his wings up and puffed his chest out a bit. The dim overhead lights raced along the fine, silvery lines of his nearly-healed welds. “Hey, good thing you're here, 'cos I'm looking for someone. I'm heading down to the maintenance deck—it's down here somewhere, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Well, I'm supposed to go grab someone. We're going to be moving in on the next strike point, and apparently the Commander wants to see a specific mech about it.” Fliers often off-handedly referred to Starscream as “Commander” without naming him specifically. There seemed to be some sort of particular affiliation to him in their programming.

Steve waved Airstream forward and the two changed their tack, weaving deeper into the bowels of the ship. “Need something repaired before you set out?” He paused. “It's an attack on a coastal target, right? We might need some specialized equipment if we think the fight's going to go to the water...”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Airstream shook his head. “But apparently the fella has some useful information, so there's _that._ ”

He couldn't explain why, but faint prickle of alarm tingled in the back of Steve's mind as they approached the door to the server room. “Just _who_ is it you're looking for?”

Before Airstream could answer, the stepped through the doorway. Inside, Switchgear looked over his shoulder, obviously expecting either Steve or 404 to be in the threshold, but he paused when he noticed Airstream. “Oh, hello. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Do you know...” Airstream peered down at his datapad. “VC-527?”

“Erm. I'm VC-527, sir,” Switchgear replied. He looked questioningly to Steve, who remained silent. The prickle of alarm had blossomed into full-blown anxiety. Steve stood to the side, uncertain and worried and unable to bring his vocalizer to speak. “I commonly go by Switchgear.”

“Oh! Right. The head guy—duh. Anyway, you're wanted up top.” Airstream gave a low, booming chuckle and looked up from his datapad. “You'd better come with me.”

 

* * *

 

Something like reconnaissance had to be run on their intended target, but the entire affair was bound to be tricky when their intended prey was undoubtedly on high alert. Blackout and Airachnid had both been sent to investigate the next lead, but neither of them would be making a direct fly-over of the facilities. The two helicopters left the Nemesis heading north, towards the southern tip of Florida. Once they reached land, they'd split up, rendezvousing again when they'd neared the base.

The MECH base in question, their most promising lead so far, was a shipyard. It wasn't abandoned, but nor was it involved in any great deal of production. Shipbuilding in the United States was a largely corporate affair in both the private and military sectors. The base had been owned by a smaller company, Malek-Robbins Industries, until a shipbuilding boom in the 80's, when the competition had forced them out of business. The buyer had been one of MECH's many fronts, and they'd had control of the facility since. It was located on the southeast coast of Florida, audaciously close to the Turkey Point Nuclear Generating Station as well as the Homestead Air Reserve Base.

Blackout had expressed doubts that this could possibly be their target based on those facts, but Airachnid felt otherwise. “I've met these humans before—worked with them, even,” she said as they flew side-by-side across the Gulf of Mexico. “They have a real flair for showmanship.”

Blackout had to concede that she must know more about MECH than he, at least on a personal basis. He felt a nudge at the back of his mind from the symbiont folded into the complex geometries of his alt-mode. _If they know that we're coming for the Combinatoric, which I'm sure they do_ _ **now**_ _, having the military nearby might actually be a good thing for them,_ Scorponok pointed out. _They work with the Autobots, but they're no friends of ours._

Regardless of which argument was most convincing, the fact remained that it was all just speculation for the moment. As the coast came into view, Blackout adjusted his course to the east, leaving Airachnid to soar over the southern tip of Florida. Their flight had taken much of the night, and even in the still hours just before dawn, the moon cast a silver brilliance over the land and the shifting sea below. Airachnid could make out the particulars of the terrain, dull brown, mottled with occasional swathes of rich green and pale expanses of sand. Aside from a few roads, the wilderness remained largely unbroken. She flew in relative silence, her observations interrupted only by the occasional back-and-forth ping with Blackout as they updated each other on their status and corroborated their positions.

The territory she'd been meant to stake out seemed mostly deserted. Untouched, wild darkness stretched away far to the west. It was just as well that this seemed to be empty country, as she intended to use the time as an opportunity for some thinking. Airachnid hadn't been directly involved in the attack on the Arkansas base, but she'd seen the aftermath. Megatron and Soundwave were willing to consider it a success, but Airachnid considered their view on he matter heavily biased, considering how important the retrieval of Frenzy had been to them both.

Frankly, she wasn't as impressed with this hypothetical master weapon as her comrades. Airachnid lived by her wits. She had no shortage of personal strength, but she felt that cleverness and application of that strength were more important than just having the biggest, baddest gun. Her fellow Decepticons seemed more focused on raw power. They were _also_ focused on great displays of dominance, which she was even _less_ enthusiastic about.

If it were up to her, she'd let the Autobots find the Combinatoric. They were obviously looking for it themselves. Soundwave had recovered an impressive amount of data on MECH, so they knew the primary sites to watch for Autobot activity. It would be far wiser to sit back, let their enemies do the heavy lifting, and then swoop in with fresh troops at the opportune moment. Instead, Megatron was focused on beating MECH, and even the usually-reserved Soundwave was, in his own quiet way, dead set on revenge for what had almost happened to his symbionts.

Frankly, it was foolish.

Not for the first time, she began to wonder if it wasn't time she started re-considering her options. Earth had its own draws, of course (after all, Arcee was here, and Airachnid was in no hurry to leave her long-time rival in peace), but she hadn't exactly come here _intentionally,_ and if she could find a way off this world to pursue her own agendas, she would. Maybe the opportunity would present itself once the next battle went down. She could easily get “lost” in the confusion, and if she happened to get “lost” with a powerful artifact that would help her secure her independence, all the better.

Blackout was obliged to adjust his course to avoid flying directly over the Keys. If it came to it, the Decepticons had no qualms about bringing the fight to a human city, but their primary objective was retrieval, and MECH had a distinct advantage in an urban environment. Human cities were veritable warrens of hiding holes inaccessible to most Decepticons. Bringing the Nemesis in to cut off the MECH base would likely be an implemented strategy, but the question remained whether it would be a blockade by land or by sea. His own flight was less fraught with inner turmoil than Airachnid's. He had only been on Earth a few days, himself, and found the planet to be strange, but no less intriguing for it.

 _It's definitely a nice change from where we were before,_ Scorponok muttered in the back of his mind.

“Yes,” he replied quietly. Their journey up to this point had been a difficult one. Scorponok, in particular, hadn't enjoyed it, as he'd been obliged to spend much of it in a state very close to stasis lock, joined with his host. The little mech had understood why such measures were necessary, but he hadn't liked leaving Blackout undefended. “It's heartening to see our comrades doing so well for themselves.”

Scorponok silently agreed.

Airachnid began to veer eastward as well when the distant lights of Homestead began to dot the horizon. She was the first to locate the base, and moved in a careful, wary arc around it to the south. The entirety of the base showed up as a monstrous pale blotch against the Florida coastline, a still and silent blemish. It had been built directly on the shore, a sprawling expanse of concrete dotted with low warehouses. Bright yellow cranes could be seen thrusting up from the ground, harsh and angular, and the area where the facilities met the sea was bristling with long, narrow dry-docks, all of them empty.

Blackout approached and mirrored her course, curving around the base to the north. The two Decepticons circled it slowly, using a combination of infrared and limited radar to make as clear a map of the above-ground portions of the base as they could. They dared not make more than one full pass, though, less they tip off their prey. “I'm going to go further up the coast,” Blackout said as they broke from the circle. “And see how far these islands extend.”

Airachnid sent him an affirmative ping, along with her intentions of investigating the lands to the west. Blackout left her in silence with her own thoughts once more. He wasn't much of a talker. Maybe it was a carrier thing. As she brought herself about, leaving the streaks of light from the distant cities behind her, she contemplated the distant gleam of the Gulf of Mexico. If she did manage to get away, maybe she'd return to South America. It could be a good place to lie low until she had transport of her own, and she'd learned during their stay that there were no shortage of groups of humans who could be used to further her own ends...

...and there was something _else_ , too. Something she couldn't quite place. A mysterious draw lay down there, lost somewhere in the sea of shifting leaves, buried in the heart of the rainforest. She couldn't quite place it, but the pull was strong enough to warrant further investigation, provided all went well over the next few days.

Not, of course, that she had decided anything. Maybe remaining on the Nemesis would be the best course of action for a long while yet. Even so... well. It never hurt to keep one's options open, did it?

 

* * *

 

“Do you mean to tell me,” Megatron growled, “That of all the Decepticons in this ship under my command, the only one with a working knowledge of Ancient Cybertronian is a _drone_?”

Starscream had called most of the remaining officers to the bridge of the Nemesis to discuss their impending strike in further detail. Soundwave and Megatron stood side-by-side. Megatron's Second seemed less-than-intimidated by his Lord's exasperation. “That remains to be seen, my Lord. It could very well be a glitch in the system.”

It had all come back to deciphering the glyphs on the outside of the Combinatoric. Starscream didn't know for sure how vital understanding these would be, but it was known that the Autobots hadn't yet found a way to properly activate the Combinatoric, and if the key lay in some kind of inscription (not at all a far-fetched assumption, given who the artifact was associated with), it wouldn't hurt to try and understand what was written there.

He had Steve to thank for it. While he'd been preparing for the assault on MECH's base, picking out fliers from the yearly dossier reports, the idea had struck him that maybe he could run a search for drones with code-breaking or linguistic experience. Some of the older ones had, after all, made the journey through space to arrive at Earth, and they'd picked up a few unorthodox skills along the way. He'd been very surprised to come home and find that one drone claimed to have even more usefulness than he'd expected to find.

“Who would have taught it?” Megatron demanded.

“We have extensive archives, my Lord.” A thought crossed Starscream's mind, and he smirked, adding somewhat condescendingly and without a hint of actual faith, “Maybe it taught itself.”

A few moments later Airstream stepped through the nearest doorway with Switchgear in tow. There wasn't that great of a variation in the sizes of the drones, but Switchgear seemed to be trying to make himself appear as small as possible, and it showed. Airstream presented his find and placed a claw over his chest in salute. “VC-527. Switchgear, sir.”

Starscream cocked a brow. “Switchgear?”

“Yes, Commander,” the grounder replied softly.

Starscream lifted a datapad and tapped it.“In your yearly dossier submissions, you have included reports that you possess some familiarity with the Ancient Cybertronian glyph system. Is this correct?”

“Er. Yes,” Switchgear replied uncertainly.

“Where did you learn this?” Starscream asked, crossing his arms.

“I taught myself, sir.”

Megatron and Soundwave exchanged glances. Ignoring them, Starscream went on, his voice carrying a faint note of irritation. “With what? There are no instructional linguistic records in our database.”

“Well, no, sir, there aren't, but there's plenty of material to decipher, if you look for it,” the drone went on, the timidity of his tone fading somewhat as he spoke. “It's just a matter of... well, it's rather like a bit of code-breaking. Most of the verses we have in the Covenant are in the style of the Ancients, sir. The Bonding verses, for one.”

Megatron and Soundwave looked to one another again. The warlord's face remained stonily impassive, and Soundwave's lack of a face made reading his expression nigh-impossible, but each could tell the other was amused.

Starscream wasn't. His wings flicked and rose a degree, and, subtle though the gesture was, it was enough to set Switchgear cowering once again. “Very well. Please do us the _sublime_ favor of your expertise, then.” He gestured to a nearby screen. “And translate these lines?”

Switchgear looked between Starscream and the screen a few times before he nodded and stepped towards the console. The Seeker watched him with a vague sense of annoyance, and despite how useful a translation would be, Starscream half-hoped the drone would prove incapable of his claims. He hadn't appreciated that little reminder of how fantastically his plans for Megatron had failed.

The drone was silent for a few long moments. Starscream's patience very quickly spent itself, and he was about to speak up when the vehicon carefully raised a claw and traced along the first line of glyphwork. “ _I am that which guards all. I am that which penetrates all defenses._ This—this looks like an epitaph, almost. The choice of determinatives suggests this is _very_ formal.” His voice, which had started off somewhat hushed and cowed, began to take on a note of enthusiasm. “I don't believe I have seen this before.”

Starscream said, simply, “Continue.” He didn't intend to give the drone any clues about what it was he was looking at. The glyphs themselves had been copied from the few images they had of the Combinatoric, and what they had been able to scrounge from Rumble's memory. The script had been pulled from its context, laid out in plain glowing letters on the screen.

“ _I sever._.. no, _I_ _ **am**_ _the severing and the flow_ —this one's a bit tricky. It claims to be not exactly the source of a pathway, but rather, some sort of more ambiguous concept. The flow? The flow, or the movement? The journey? Hmm.” By now Switchgear was beginning to forget his company. “ _I am the severance and flow_... I think we're missing something. It sort of trails off here, there are a few symbols that don't make _any_ kind of sense.” He traced a claw over the screen, following the looping course of the glyphwork.

“So you mean to say, the rest of this is unreadable?”

“Not all of it. It picks up again... there's a turn here. See these markings to the side? They indicate that the next statement is separated somehow. We could be missing one line from the middle, or one hundred, really. It says... _None may wield, save those that have been_... transformed? _Changed_ in some way, but _these_ marks indicate some very odd connotations. It's not change as we know it. Some... fundamental re-structuring of who you are--”

His rambling was cut off by Megatron. “The Matrix.”

The gathered Decepticons went silent. If it was true, if only a Prime had the power to wield the Infinite Combinatoric, then the scope of their mission would definitely change. It did them no good to have a weapon they couldn't use themselves, but it was equally important to keep that weapon out of the hands of an enemy that could. “...by the touch of the highest power,” Switchgear finally spoke into the silence. “ _None may wield, save those who have been changed by the touch of the highest power_.”

“It certainly sounds as if the Combinatoric would only be receptive to the touch of a Prime,” Starscream said. “That would explain why Rumble ad Frenzy couldn't use it... but doesn't explain why Prime couldn't.”

“I'd wager that it's not enough to be the Prime—wait, _Combinatoric_? This is associated with Amalgamous Prime?” Switchgear's attention snapped over sharply, and Starscream nodded. The drone looked back to the screen, tapping his chin-guard excitedly. His anxiety had evaporated in the heat of his excitement. “ _That_ makes this all the more interesting. He _was_ the trickster of the Thirteen. It's possible some further riddle-solving element might be required. Not to _mention_ \--” He held up a finger. “--the possibility that it's not true. It could be a lie, or a deception, of some sort.”

“If the use of the Combinatoric relies on solving a riddle,” Megatron spoke the word with a vague hint of disdain in his grave tones, “then the missing portions of the inscription would likely be vital to understanding it.”

Switchgear nodded slowly, not taking his optic band from the screen. “Most certainly.”

“Very well.” Megatron turned to Starscream. “We will bring him along. First and foremost, we must concentrate on retrieving the artifact, but if the opportunity presents itself to wield it, we must make take full advantage of it.” He paused again, seemingly wrestling with some decision, before he gave the barest of nods in Starscream's direction: the most perfunctory acknowledgment of his diligence that could be offered, but an acknowledgment nonetheless.

Starscream didn't fail to notice, and nodded back with a smirk, hitching his wings up again, while the drone looked back to them all, frozen in horrified realization.

 

* * *

 

Elsewhere, a similar recitation was taking place, to an equally similarly interested audience.

 

“ _I am that which guards infinity,_

_I am that which undoes all defenses._

_I sever the flow of all lines to the spark,_

_And unravel that which is innermost, unseen._

_None may wield me that has not been changed_

_by the touch of the noblest power.”_

 

Miko gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Sounds very mystic. Especially when you say it, big guy!” She gave Optimus a double thumbs-up, and for a moment, a softening almost like a smile graced the Prime's features.

“That,” he went on, “is the inscription found on the Infinite Combinatoric. It was translated and interpreted long ago; I first encountered it in the Iacon Archives. What purpose this inscription serves has not yet been deciphered.”

The children had been resuming their regular visits since the evening of the assault on the MECH base. Raf had been spending most of his time quietly, sitting by Bumblebee's sleeping form. He didn't speak much for the first few days, except to quietly explain that he wanted to be there, if he could, when Bumblebee woke up. School turned out to be the major flaw in that plan, but Bumblebee had been equally happy to receive him, sitting up and awake, as Bulkhead brought him in one evening.

Now they were both sitting up, side-by-side, their postures unconscious mimics of one another. “The noblest power,” Raf frowned slightly. “The Matrix?”

“That is the generally-accepted interpretation, yes,” Optimus said, “Of all the lost artifacts of the Thirteen, and the remnants of their age of wonders, the Matrix presides supreme.”

“Pretty impressive, if even this Amalgo-whatever guy respected it,” Miko chimed in.

“Amalgamous,” Jack corrected her wryly. The three of them had been receiving a crash-course in Autobot mythology over the past few days. They'd already been involved in several escapades that involved artifacts of the past, and speaking at length about the Combinatoric had sparked a surprising amount of curiosity. Jack had once mused over the similarities in some of the Thirteen's tendencies and the gods of various Earth pantheons. Miko had called him a nerd.

In the spare moments the Autobots had to answer the children's questions, they'd found themselves enjoying the education to an unexpected degree. There was something to be said for taking a step back and immersing their thoughts in their own culture once more. It was strangely comforting and grounding, but painful at the same time. The memory of their dead, grey planet lingered in the backs of all of their minds, but they couldn't shake a feeling of poignant homesickness, all the same.

Wheeljack had hit the road again, and the Autobots were once more back on patrols. The search was largely being handled by Fowler's contacts at the moment, and, as usual, there were delays and setbacks as the representatives above his head juggled what they thought was and wasn't high priority.

“I'm not sure what ranks higher on their list than 'powerful alien weapon in the hands of trigger-happy techno-supremacist _maniacs,_ but it had better be something _good._ ” Fowler, needless to say, hadn't been amused.

“So, if the Matrix is what switches it on,” Miko asked, “how come you didn't use it to kick some pirate butt when you _did_ have it?”

“It appears that activation of the Combinatoric is more complicated than that,” Optimus replied gently. “I was not able to activate it simply by being there. Further steps must somehow be involved. Considering that the artifact is most closely associated with he greatest trickster of the Primes,” he went on, “that is hardly surprising.”

“Hmm.” There was a calculating gleam in Miko's eye.

“Don't,” Jack chided. When Miko looked to him, an expression of exaggerated innocence on her face, he said, “I know what you're thinking. If you want to solve the mystery of this thing, how about you wait for them to bring it back _here_?”

“Well, what if it's too late by then?” Miko countered.

“Exactly how would you even plan to use it if you got there, anyway?”

Miko shrugged, but before she could offer up any semblance of a plan, Ratchet cut in. “It goes without saying that none of you will be involved in any attempt to retrieve the Combinatoric. I shouldn't even have to tell you how _dangerous_ this is.” The stern look he shot Miko's way was met with a challenging stare. “This is Cybertronian business.”

“You've been letting us help you _find_ it,” Miko pointed out.

“That's hardly the same thing!” Ratchet waved her off. “Besides, with or without humans' help, we haven't even gotten that far. We don't know _where_ the Infinite Combinatoric even is, much less how we're going to go about extracting it.”

His words seemed to be a cue; the conversation was cut off as the elevator alert chimed. All heads immediately turned in the direction of the doors. They hissed open, and before they'd even fully parted, Fowler was stepping through, waving one hand in a gesture that was just as much an expression of relief as it was of triumph. “Pack your tanning oil and swim-trunks, fellas,” he called, “we're going to the Sunshine State!”

 


	16. Combinatoric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow as hell, but not dead yet! I said sometime earlier that I planned to finish this before the year is out, but it might be into next before I'm completely done. If you're still hanging in here after all this time, then you have my kudos!
> 
> Squicks for this chapter: Nothing to speak of.

The big question was how exactly to bait the trap. Common sense would dictate not placing their actual prize at the heart of the ambush. Aside from the possibility of damage, if things went wrong somehow, they could very well lose it. In the end, though, Silas simply shook his head and declared that they keep the mysterious cargo where it was.

“But why, sir?” the administrator asked.

“Because we don't know how they're tracking it,” he replied. Soundwave had been especially thorough in leaving no electronic trace of his intrusions. “They managed to find a piece of salvage that was buried halfway down a mountain. If we move this, there's a chance—a high chance, by my estimation—that they'll know if what they're looking for _isn't_ here.”

The administrator nodded and turned back to his screen with a sigh. “It's quite a risk.”

“Yes. All the more reason to be ready for them,” Silas replied.

* * *

And MECH _would_ be ready for them; the Decepticons were sure of it. It wasn't the first time the Decepticons had launched an attack that they knew their enemies would expect. They'd been at this for millions of years, after all. The last assault had been relatively cautious, by their standards. After all, MECH hadn’t had something they wanted, they’d had some _one_ they wanted. A certain level of finesse was required in instances like that.

Of course, their version of finesse had ended up razing half of the Arkansas base to the ground. That was all the more reason to fear what they considered a more reckless assault.

“Retrieving the Combinatoric is, of course, our priority,” Megatron said, standing on the bridge of the ship, his arresting voice carrying his orders to the massed army of drones beneath him, “Nor will we needlessly waste resources if the weapon is no longer attainable. But this is not a mission where speed is the priority. We will stay until we are satisfied or bereft, and MECH will suffer every moment of our presence.”

The day before the assault was one dominated, somewhat surprisingly, by something approaching bureaucracy. The troops had to be given a general briefing, the officers another, and the specialized agents yet another. Everyone knew their place in the assault, and if the ranks moved in concert, MECH would be ground to pieces in the devastating machine that was the full brunt of Decepticon might.

“Despite the success of our aerial reconnaissance,” Megatron said later, to a much smaller group of mecha, mostly consisting of his offers and a few seasoned Eradicons, “we will need to attempt to get a closer look at this base, to narrow down likely storage locations for our prize. The number of scouts we have that are small enough to do this are few and far between.” He looked to Soundwave questioningly.

Without a word, Soundwave nodded.

* * *

In the tense, dark stillness that hung like a pall over the shipyard, a guard on his rounds paused, tilting his head. He held absolutely still, as if waiting for something, until he heard it again: a very faint sloshing sound. He elbowed his partner, who’d been speaking softly to another guard. “Shh. You hear that?”

“Hear what?”

The first guard held up his hand for silence. All three men held utterly still, listening intently, and the sound came a third time: the gentle swish of something moving through the water. “Probably a crocodile,” the second guard offered, while the first shook his head. “These guys are big. I’m pretty sure we’d notice if one of them was in the water.”

“Yeah, but I’m not about to just write this off without checking.” He knelt down, clicking on his flashlight. The source of the noise was not right underneath them, but close enough to see: a dark, low shape in the water, and a pair of raised, unblinking reptilian eyes that threw back the light eerily. The alligator swished its tail and floated out of the circle of light, angling towards the shadows under the dock, away from the humans.

The first guard let out a deep breath. “Okay. Well, good.”

“What kind of night is it gonna be,” the third one chimed in, “if _alligators_ in the water is a good thing?”

“Better than the alternative.”

Under the surface of the water, Ravage made his way silently and steadily towards the heart of the docks. He disengaged his alligator-styled holoform only when the glow of the flashlight faded from above, and the human voices died away.

* * *

The last time a major assault had been carried out on a MECH base, the Autobots had beaten the Decepticons to the punch. There was definitely something to be said for allowing one’s enemies to take each other out, but a decisive victory with no competition for the spoils was an even better proposition. As the countdown to the final strike wound down, it became increasingly clear that they’d managed to move faster than the Autobots this time around.

They’d be launching their assault before the hour was up, but it was still moving far too slowly for Scorponok’s liking. He lurked under the surface of the water, occasionally climbing up one of the support struts of the base’s structure, and sometimes clinging upside-down to the underside of the ground itself, in the places where it cleared the water line.

He hadn’t been on Earth long enough to have a holoform generator installed. His only means of concealment would be his own wits and his quickness—no pressure, right? Every now and then he’d receive a ping from Ravage as they quartered the complex, marking the movements of the patrols and listening to the conversations of the humans. The prevailing mood seemed to be that of faint tension, sometimes marked by silence, sometimes filled with inane, nervous chatter.

They were strange, like everything else on this planet.

At last, Scorponok received the message he’d been waiting for: a silent flicker of thought through his bond with Blackout. The first wave was moving in. Rather than clamber up onto the surface of the base proper, Scorponok turned and slid back into the water, tucking his front claws in close and swimming with his legs, slithering as confidently as if he had been built for the murky waters.

Round one was nothing special, but he still didn’t want to be caught beneath the base during a bombardment, and he wouldn’t be needed again until the second phase of the attack.

* * *

The Autobots had been in the Homestead Reserve Air base for about an hour before they received the alarming, but unsurprising news that some kind of assault had been launched on a nearby shipyard. “Definitely not human,” Fowler relayed through his phone. “I think your boys are making their move.”

The humans of the air base, as always, offered their support, and as always, Optimus turned them down. “Focus your efforts on clearing the surrounding area, both on the land, and in the sea,” he replied in grave tones, kneeling before the commanders and officials Fowler had brought to him, “for we have no idea how far our enemies are willing to carve their path of destruction.” He wasn’t met with much opposition. No-one on the base could be called a coward, but they’d seen images of the remains of MECH’s Arkansas base.

Optimus stood and turned away from them, leaving the humans to their plans. He crossed the tarmac to were the rest of his troops were waiting. “Ratchet, we’ll need a bridge,” he called through his comms, “and stand by for potential wounded.”

* * *

The first wave was nothing spectacular. A squadron of drones swooped low over the base, their engines screaming, raining plasma bolts down on the structures below them, aiming for anything and everything that looked large or important. MECH wasted no time in returning fire, and as the squadron pulled up, they barely missed the volley of sparking projectiles that the humans had sent arcing through the air after them.

They made a second pass, under Starscream’s command, flying in a staggered, spaced-out formation. Starscream was testing the saturation of his enemy’s firepower, seeing how well they could handle scattered targets. The answer proved to be, well enough, for one of the projectiles hit home, slamming into the underside of one of the drones and ripping it out of the air in a haze of crackling electricity. The drone managed to veer slightly before he lost consciousness, intending to direct his crash at one of the warehouse structures, but he only managed to scrape his wing along the roof. His course carried him beyond the platform, and he crashed into the water.

First blood went to MECH.

“Very well,” Starscream said to himself as he watched from the uppermost deck of the _Nemesis_ , his eyes narrowed, standing still despite the occasional tugging of the high-altitude winds. It was time for the next wave.

This time, when the squadron made their pass, they raked the air with an endless, tight barrage of plasma bolts, providing covering-fire for their fellows; as soon as they passed low enough, the eradicons shifted in mid-fight, landing, one after one, on the concrete and skidding to a halt. It was time for the fight—and the search—to begin in earnest.

It was at about that point, when the battle was shifting gears and at peak chaos, that the Autobots saw fit to arrive.

* * *

“Arcee,” Optimus said as he transformed his weapons into place, “among us all, you have the best chance of recovering the Combinatoric.” He paused for just a moment, regarding her gravely; aside from her size affording her the greatest ease of movement in the relatively tight quarters of the shipyard, she was the quickest and most agile of them all. If anyone could dodge through two different sets of enemies and still come out victorious, it would be her.

“One step ahead of you,” she said, shifting into alt-mode. “I’ll see you when I find it.” Before he could say anything else, she roared away, swerving into the space between two buildings, and was rapidly out of sight.

* * *

Arcee wasn’t the only scout touching down in those moments. Three squads of drones had been dispatched by space-bridge in three different places across the shipyard. “All right,” the leader of the southern trio—a pair of fliers and one land vehicle—said, “check your comms. Scorponok’s running recon for us. You getting this, sir?” A wordless affirmative pinged back through the comm-line. “All right. Everyone else? Good. Tell us where you need us, and we’ll get looking.”

On the north and east sides of the shipyard, the other scouting squads were making contact with Ravage and Laserbeak, waiting to be directed to the places each symbiont had scouted out before. “Looks like we’re heading over there—” the squad leader pointed towards what looked, at first, like a distant wall, but proved to be a stack of crates upon closer inspection. “Which one of you’s the translator, again?”

“I am, sir,” replied the lone vehicon among them.

“Stay between us,” the squad leader said with a nod. “And we’ll carve your path.”

It was a comforting sentiment, but even so, Switchgear followed them with quiet terror curling in his spark.

* * *

Somewhere high, high above the shipyard, Soundwave flew. The sounds of combat only faintly reached him up here, and though an outside observer might feel as if he were waiting for a moment to swoop in, he was, indeed, already deeply engaged in the battle below. 

He could see through Laserbeak’s eyes, could feel the way the wind tugged at her wings and the heat from the missiles she expertly dodged, spinning and ducking through the air, drawing fire away from her squad of searchers. He felt the cool water sliding off of ravage’s back as he climbed out of the water before his own trio of drones, yellow eyes narrow and fierce, moving as swift and silent as a shadow as he led them through the fringes of the battle.

He could feel Rumble and Frenzy, who had landed with the second wave, gleefully setting to their appointed task, which was, in this instance, wanton chaos and destruction. There was vengeance in their violence, and the humans scattered and fled before when they realized that these new opponents were small enough to make their cover useless.

The overlapping perspectives flooded Soundwave’s brain, a rush of mental stimulus that was both strangely new and utterly familiar with him. It had been so long since he had felt this in-control, this complete. Soundwave sent a wordless ping of warning to Ravage about a threat lurking around the corner; he commanded Frenzy to make brief use of his battle-cry, creating an opening for his brother to rush in and push past the line of firing weapons. While Laserbeak focused on her complex, endless acrobatics, Soundwave calmly marked her targets for her, and one by one, she felled them, trusting his targeting systems and sending each bolt unerringly towards its goal.

The five of them had become, in those moments, a cold and devastating mechanism of war. Soundwave’s spark sang with a sort of vicious joy, with the thrill of conquest. He allowed himself, in his own quiet, muted way, to revel in his strength and the strength of his symbionts. _This is what you tried to take from me,_ the violence seemed to say, _this is the final, dreadful consequences of everything you’ve done, or tried to do, to us._

They seemed to be getting the message. Soundwave received a ping from below that Megatron, having spotted Optimus, was taking the field, and he tilted his frame, letting himself slide in a downward sideways slant, closer to the battle. Tonight, it felt right to be down there with his Intended, surrounded by his symbionts, striking down their mutual enemy at its heart.

Tonight, Soundwave wanted to get his hands dirty.

* * *

“Optimus!” The warlord’s voice carried easily over the cacophony of battle as he streaked from the sky. Spotting his nemesis wasn’t at all difficult, even from such a distance. The forces that had been harrying Optimus retreated as they saw Megatron drawing nearer, ducking into buildings or scurrying away down the alleys between the warehouses. They’d seen this mech take a blow from their tesla cannon and survive. They knew better than to stand in the way of this duel.

At least, not until the two combatants were sufficiently distracted.

Megatron’s armor glinted in the dark as he shifted mid-air, landing on his feet with a force that shook the platform, end-to-end. He spread his arms, grinning in unabashed, arrogant pride at the destruction around him, radiating assurance. “You’re late.”

Optimus kept his eyes on Megatron. His soldiers had split off, fighting desperately against both sides. There was no backup here. There was only the same, timeless struggle. He hefted his axe and steadied his stance silently, regarding Megatron with a burning blue stare.

“No noble last words? Nothing to say before I cut you down?” Megatron stared at Optimus, who remained grimly silent. Megatron raised his fusion cannon. “Very well. I am merely moments from silencing you for good.”

That seemed to be the end of it; Optimus charged, Megatron fired, and the next moment the two mechs met with a resounding clash to re-ignite the war between them once again.

* * *

The battle raged, a three-sided free-for-all, until Starscream gave the command for Blackout to even the odds a bit. Now that they had officers on the ground, it would do well to dull whatever advantage MECH was wielding against them. He dipped out of the dark sky, flanked by two eradicons. “We’ll cover you, sir,” one of them called through the comms. “Just name your target.”

“My target is the base,” Blackout rumbled. “This won’t be confined to any small area; we will head for the center. Send out the warning to our unshielded troops.” His escorts wove around him, clearing a path through the sky. The Decepticon officers had been shielded against Blackout’s unique ability, as had his two escorts. Across the battlefield, fliers swooped in for a quick landing as the rank-and-file soldiers braced themselves for the moment of disorientation that they knew was coming. Blackout wheeled into place, pivoting neatly in the air, and turned his focus inward. All he had to do was draw upon the power curled in his spark, and wrench it like _so_ —

There was a low sound, almost too deep for the humans of the battlefield to hear, as Blackout’s pulse-wave swept over the battlefield. Silence followed in the wake of that sound as the Autobot fighters stumbled and the technology employed by MECH fizzled under the effects.

It did not linger long, though. It was only moments before the retort of human gunfire split the night again. The MECH forces had recovered the fastest out of all of them, even the Decepticons who’d known the pulse-wave was coming. Within moments, though, the eradicons were back in the air, and the Autobots surged back into the fight.

 “They seem to be prepared for your assault, sir,” one of the eradicons commed as he zipped past Blackout.

Blackout hovered in place. Something wasn’t right. Though he could see that he’d disabled a good deal of their high-tech weaponry, they were still armed with guns that were purely analogue. The weapons looked downright archaic—it had been done deliberately. He hadn’t been able to use any of his abilities in his initial fight with MECH. There was no way they’d done this in preparation for his assault. So, if they hadn’t done this in preparation for Blackout’s pulse-wave, what had they made the preparations for?

Realization dawned, but too late.

“Clever trick,” Silas murmured softly, down below. “Let’s show them our version.”

“All fliers out of the sky!” Blackout barked. His escorts dropped like stones, hastening to obey. “The enemy—”

The EM pulse shot through the entire dock in waves. MECH hadn’t just activated one device: they’d activated an entire network of them from where they’d been implanted throughout the docks. The Cybertronians on the ground were not instantly knocked out, but they were stunned, and the few moments’ pause granted by the pulse was all the time MECH needed to push the advantage. They didn’t, though—not immediately. All humans on the ground remained in cover.

This was because the fliers that had been strafing the battlefield were dropping from the sky and crashing to the docks. One of them managed to gather his wits enough about him to dive into the water, but the rest either crunched headfirst into the concrete or ploughed their way through the docks, scattering shipping containers and tearing through buildings as they went. The destruction was immense, on both sides: clearly, MECH had not anticipated just how many eradicons would be close enough to have been affected by the pulse.

Blackout was the only flier still in the air: his natural abilities shielded him from such forms of attack. For a few long moments the battlefield was nearly silent, except for the regular chopping sound of Blackout’s rotors. He was the only aerial threat left, and the only aerial target.

After the stunned silence had passed, but before the chopper could rally himself, two missiles arced from the ground towards him. One missed, sending a building up in a fiery bloom, but the other hit home, sending Blackout careening through the air with the force of the blow. He managed to remain upright, but in the few moments it took him to recover, another, smaller missile was arcing at him from below: it, too, found its target, prongs digging into the chopper’s armor as it delivered a powerful paralytic shock. It was only then that Blackout’s rotors stilled, and he dropped from the sky, crashing into a wall of shipping crates, carving a path of messy destruction until his hurtling form collided with one of the low warehouses.

There was only a split second’s time for a cry of dismay from the MECH forces on the ground before the warehouse went up in a roaring rush of flame. A small chain reaction of explosions rocked the buildings along the seaward side of the base, sending shipping crates careening into the ocean or across the asphalt.

Nobody could tell just which side had taken the most casualties, but one thing was for certain: the tides had turned.

* * *

Blackout’s pulse-wave had been disorienting, but not devastating to the drones on the ground. The southern trio regained their wits, checked their weaponry to see if the safeguards had held, and then prepared to move forward towards the target Scorponok had marked. Mere moments after they’d started, though, MECH’s EM pulse had rocked the shipyard, and very nearly knocked all of them out.

“What the hell was—“ the leader was cut off by a sudden explosion. A wave of force carrying fire and wildly caroming shipping crates knocked all three of them off their feet, sent them scattering and skidding across the asphalt.

It took a moment for Switchgear’s senses to return to him. He could hear other explosions all around him, muffled by distance and by the high-pitched ringing in his audials. Something had struck him—he couldn’t tell what. Perhaps a shredded section of half-melted shipping crate, perhaps a chunk of concrete. Silently, still somewhat stunned, he pushed himself off the ground and activated his visor, which flickered fitfully. He tried to speak, but only a burst of static came out.

He had to find his companions.

The squad leader had taken the worst of the damage, and even before Switchgear drew near to him, he could see that the drone was dead. He’d gotten caught between two crates, crushed by the force of them slamming together. The other drone was gone. Switchgear didn’t know if he’d been flung into the water, or if he’d woken up first. When he tried to comm him, there was no answer. Desperately, Switchgear switched to Scorponok’s signature. “Sir? Sir, are you there?”

Nothing. Switchgear hadn’t seen Blackout fall from the sky. He didn’t know what fate had befallen the chopper’s symbiont. All he knew was that he was alone, in the middle of a battle, surrounded by his enemies. _What do I do?_ He thought frantically. _What do I do?_

His gaze fell upon the twisted remains of his fellow drone. A feeling that was somewhere between sadness and shame shot through him _. You do what you came here to do,_ he told himself, _find that weapon_. Switchgear didn’t feel any less frightened, but he did feel a sight more determined, as turned and moved through the labyrinth of crates.

* * *

Scorponok returned to consciousness slowly. The EM pulse hadn’t been what knocked him offline. It had been the feedback of pain and shock that had flooded through his bond with his carrier. As Scorponok clawed away the last shreds of unconsciousness, he pinged his comms frantically, only to find them non-functional. Tentatively, he reached out for Blackout, and was horrified to feel how weak the response was from his carrier.

Blackout was dying.

Scorponok rolled over, righted himself, and launched across the battlefield, heedless of the dangers around him. He charged through the wreckage towards the place where his host had dropped from the sky.

* * *

When the initial chaos from MECH’s EM pulse had died down at last, Arcee opened her eyes. The destruction had been immense, but rather than flattening the structures of the base around them, it had made them more unpredictable. The looming yellow cranes had been knocked to haphazard angles, blocking off former alleyways between the stacked cargo creates and buildings. Some of the warehouses had been ripped open, their walls blown out in all directions, their contents scattered.

It had been a maze before. Now it was a labyrinth. Arcee muttered irritably to herself and got on the move again, altering her course. With any luck, the explosions had disoriented her foes, and she could make progress before she ran into any--

\--Arcee rounded a corner and nearly collided with a vehicon. Her soldier's reflexes kicked in, and she immediately sprang back, dropping to a fighting crouch with her dual pistols aimed at the foe. The vehicon seemed less prepared, and instead just took a step back, watching her in evident horror. It didn't even try to form any of its weapons. Instead, it just slowly lowered its arms, staring at her. After a moment, it said, “Well, get on with it, then.”

Arcee narrowed her eyes. “You're just going to let me shoot you? Nice try, 'Con, but I'm not that gullible.”

“Well, I don't see what it is you could possibly have to lose,” the enemy soldier answered back somewhat primly, “it would be a good trick indeed if I could pull it on you once I've been shot to death.”

“You might explode,” she pointed out.

“Oh. Point.” The vehicon considered this. “I'm not going to, though.”

It was beginning to dawn on Arcee how surreal this conversation was getting. “So what's with the death-wish? Usually you drones go out fighting.”

She got a bit of a rise out of it—him, she knew now—at the “drone” comment. “If you must know, I'm not technically a combatant. I was brought here for other purposes. I know full well how long I'd last if I picked a fi--”

He was interrupted by a rattling roar and a sudden burst of light a few buildings down: a missile, colliding violently with its target. Heat washed through the air, and all around them, the sounds of combat were beginning to splinter the night again. The vehicon looked away for a moment, and Arcee took two quick steps towards him before he flicked his visor back to her, aiming her pistols directly at his face. He shrank back. For a moment they just stood there, and the slowly, Arcee tilted one of her pistols to the side, away from him, and fired at a wall—or, rather, she tried to. The only response to her triggering the weapon was a soft click.

“Your friend's little stunt knocked out my weapons,” she said with a hint of dry humor. Life was hard. Scaring vehicons witless was one of the simple pleasures she intended to take advantage of.

“Oh,” he said. He continued to watch her uncertainly, obviously wary of her, but also not keen on trying to fight her anytime soon. The roar of nearby gunfire (human gunfire, they both noticed) broke the strange silence again. “We are... both deep behind enemy lines,” the vehicon began uncertainly.

“Yep.”

“You can't fire, and I can't hit the broad sign of a barn, as the humans say.”

“Yep,” Arcee said again, thinking to herself that that was a characteristic most vehicons seemed to share.

“I think you know what I'm about to suggest,” the drone went on.

“Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it.”

The vehicon sighed. “I think perhaps we stand a much better chance of not being captured and dissected by... w-working together.” He shuddered, as if it felt wrong just to say it. “But as soon as we're in the clear, I am gone.”

Arcee glanced at the sky for a moment. As if on cue, two sparking stun-missiles arced through the air, flying well over their heads and not aimed anywhere near them, but menacing in their presence all the same. It was interesting that he had said he would run as soon as they were in the clear, rather than try and fight her. Of all the Decepticons she could be temporarily forced to rely on, the safest was probably a coward. She nodded to the side, indicating that the drone should follow her, and got on the move. “All right. No names, though.”

“I know who you are, Arcee,” he replied somewhat scathingly, “we all know who you are.”

Arcee snorted. “Well, fine. Might as well make it even, then. Who're you supposed to be?”

The drone hesitated for a moment. “Switchgear,” he finally said. “You can call me Switchgear.”

* * *

A harsh clanging of metal striking metal rang out, joining the rising cacophony that was swelling through the shipyard once more. The EMP blasts and the resulting destruction had not ended Optimus and Megatron’s duel. It had merely paused it. Throughout the battle, MECH forces had entrenched themselves in the surrounding buildings and attempted to make potshots at the two battling titans.

As soon as Soundwave landed, he sought to put an end to all that.

Soundwave had gone down to one knee after MECH’s blast, but otherwise shook off the assault silently. It seemed the precautions they’d taken against Blackout’s abilities had only provided them partial protection. He glanced quickly behind him to make sure Megatron was still on his feet, and turned in time to see Megatron doing the same for him. A flicker of amusement passed through him, and silently, he nodded. Narrowing his eyes, Megatron returned his attention to Optimus, who was shaking off the last effects of the pulse and bringing his axe up.

 In the next instant, Soundwave received pings from all of his symbionts, verifying that they were still on their feet; he returned them.

The MECH forces surrounding them had taken the opportunity provided by the pause to re-assert their positions. On the open ground, they were fair game for Soundwave’s lashing tentacles, but in the buildings, they were harder to get to. Luckily, Soundwave had a solution for that.

_Rumble, Frenzy: Return,_ he commanded through the link. The twins began to make their way across the battlefield, heading directly towards the MECH line while Soundwave kept the humans back and under cover. While MECH focused their attention on him, his symbionts would approach from the rear. They’d be caught between two murderous symbionts and their equally-murderous host. They’d come here hoping to take down what was obviously the toughest mech on the battlefield while he was distracted, and had landed themselves firmly in a trap.

What a gift. If Soundwave had possessed a mouth, he might have smiled.

* * *

MECH found the unlikely allies first. They announced their presence by firing a sparking stun-missile, which Arcee artfully dodged, and which Switchgear hurriedly scrambled out of the way of. On reflex, Arcee whirled to train her blasters in the general direction of her attackers—which, of course, would do nothing, since her guns weren’t working. _But of course theirs are back online,_ she thought bitterly to herself.

She hesitated for just a moment, and the humans that had found them took full advantage of it. The first strike had been made with a stun-missile, but the second was with a much less elegant weapon: a grenade. Arcee rolled out of the way, but not quite fast enough: the blast caught her in the side, sending her rolling the stunning her momentarily.

No time. Arcee gritted her teeth, forcing herself into a sitting position. Her free hand went to her side, which was already drenched in her energon. The human was hefting his stun-missile launcher again, advancing. MECH didn’t want her blown to bits, after all. She let the human take a few more steps before she uncoiled suddenly, striking out with a single foot and using the momentum of the motion to pull herself into a half-crouch.

The human made a few leaping steps backward, and nearly overbalanced himself, but managed to avoid the kick. With a low sound that might have been a chuckle, he raised the rifle again, aiming it directly for Arcee’s chest.

Arcee gritted her teeth, still holding onto her bleeding side, and raised her head to face her enemy, but she was quite suddenly yanked off her feet. Before she could register what was happening, she was dragged backwards. Talons dug painfully into her shoulder. The MECH operative who'd shot at her made a few determined, jogging steps for her, but the mech dragging her shifted, momentarily released her, and began to furiously hurl debris at the human, who was forced to retreat a bit.

It was the vehicon, of course. Arcee struggled to her get feet underneath her, and together they retreated into the bombed-out shell of a warehouse, which was only in possession of three of its walls but most of its roof. Switchgear dropped her somewhat unceremoniously on the incline of rubble that half-covered the warehouse floor, and peered back around the way they'd come. “...I think it left. Oh, wait, no--” He stooped and picked up a chunk of concrete, tossing it at the unseen target. “Ha! Got him,” he said, sounding quite proud of himself.

Arcee gave a painful sigh. She couldn't exactly celebrate the idea of a Decepticon beaning a human in the head with debris, but she would rather chance hurting a MECH operative than ending up on their dissection table. She pushed herself into a sitting position, clambering up the incline of rubble and  examining her side. The wound was deep, and bleeding profusely. “Damn,” she said through gritted teeth.

Switchgear turned back to her. “Oh, dear,” he said. “You're... right, that doesn't look too good.”

Arcee clamped a hand over her side, doing what she could to stem the flow. Nevertheless, energon was dripping down through the torn hunks of asphalt and strewn warehouse rubble beneath her, running in little rivulets between the rocks. She narrowed her eyes and watched Switchgear warily.

He hesitated, but after a moment, began to approach her. Arcee pushed herself up, trying to stand, and he waved a hand dismissively, saying, “No, no, I'm not going to—just relax.” He procured a simple patch-up kit from his subspace and held it out to her. 

Arcee slowly took the kit, still watching him in silent suspicion.

“I... don't know how to put it on, though,” he said after a moment.

She got to work, popping open the kit and plastering the temporary patch to her side. It didn't do anything to stop the pain, but it staunched the bleeding significantly. Switchgear watched her, his head tilted curiously, but he didn't speak, and didn't move except to occasionally glance back through the ragged hole where one of the warehouse walls used to be. “...thanks.”

“Well,” he said quickly, “you're no good to me dead.” The line was spoken in a rush, with no real conviction. It was a very obviously planned response.

Arcee rolled her eyes but let the drone retain its dignity. She peered at the ceiling. “At least we're covered from above. We need to recon, though, and see where we are, and how much further we have to go...”

“I can do that,” Switchgear said, “and I'll take one of these with me.” He leaned down to hoist up another chunk of concrete. “Okay, so, what should I... be looking for, exactly?”

Arcee sighed. Of all the Decepticons she could have found herself unexpectedly cooperating with, she had to end up with the single most incompetent drone on the battlefield. “For starters--”

A soft beep and click interrupted her. Both Cybertronians froze, looking hurriedly about, but there was no-one else there. Arcee formed her pistols (they still wouldn't fire, but the intimidation factor could be useful) and began to back towards the edge of the room. “What was that?”

“I don't know,” Switchgear answered softly. “I think it came from under you. Where you were sitting.”

Arcee crouched slowly, peering at the mound of rubble she'd been reclining on. Very carefully, she began to clear it, and after a moment Switchgear came over to help her, their fingers and talons occasionally slipping on the energon that had trickled down through the mess. It had reached as far as the floor, they saw as they dug deeper. It had also reached something that had been knocked asunder by the blast, and was lying near the bottom of the pile at a skewed angle.

A cargo pod. A cargo pod, specifically, that had been smeared with energon. The electronic lock display was flickering green. Arcee and Switchgear slowly looked at one another, and, without a word, hauled it loose.

* * *

Wheeljack dropped as he ran, sliding along the ground like a determined baseman, narrowly dodging a sparking stun-missile that hissed over his head. He let his momentum carry him forward, towards his enemy, sparks scattering from the place where his armor met the asphalt. Above him, in a relatively small watchtower, his foe tracked his progress with his rifle, but before he could fire again, Wheeljack tucked into a forward roll, lashing out with his swords and slicing neatly through three of the four support structures of the watchtower.

It tilted precariously, but held. “Aww, come on,” Wheeljack said, standing.

A thud-thud-thudding of heavy, approaching footsteps announced the arrival of his backup, and Wheeljack stepped neatly to the side as Bulkhead finished the job, bringing his wrecking ball around in a short, brutal arc against what remained of the watchtower’s support. The human inside scrambled frantically to grab a hold of the rail as it went down in a heap.

“He’s gonna need to sleep that one off,” Bulkhead said. “You okay, Jackie? That blast was nasty.”

Wheeljack shrugged. “Comms are fried, and I’m not going to be shooting anything anytime soon. Luckily—“ He brandished his swords, which flashed in the flickering light of distant, growing fires. “I’ve got a backup plan.” A pause. “Two backup plans.”

Bulkhead hefted his wrecking ball. “You’re not the only one. Probably best to stick together for now—and Arcee’s still in there somewhere.” He turned, flicking his eyes over the wreckage around them, plainly worried.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Wheeljack nudged Bulkhead. “Hey, she’s tough. If anyone out there has cornered Arcee… well. I feel sorry for them. Guns or no guns.”

The sound of nearby rifle-fire provided a neat punctuation to Wheeljack’s statement. He and Bulkhead exchanged glances, grinned almost in unison, and returned to the battle.

* * *

“It's beautiful,” Switchgear breathed. He was trembling—practically vibrating, Arcee noticed, as they reverently laid the Combinatoric on the ground before them. Arcee didn't know if she would call it beautiful, but it was definitely something.

It almost looked like the barrel of a gun removed from the stock. Dark, heavy, and long, it was, criss-crossed in fissures and facets that made its exact shape difficult to pin down. It didn't seem to be moving, but it also somehow didn't seem to be stationary. It was confusing to look at. Arcee couldn’t stare at it for a long period of time, and neither could Switchgear. It didn't seem to have any handle, grip, or anything indicating how it should be handled or pointed.

It was criss-crossed in gently glowing glyphs, but these were difficult to read. They seemed to slide away from the eye as the Combinatoric's surface continued to gleefully play tricks with the light.

Before either of them could speak, a blue brilliance suddenly rippled along the surface and lashed out, passing over both of their bodies. Arcee and Switchgear flinched, but felt nothing other than a faint tingling through their EM fields. For a moment afterward, the brilliance hung in the air, swirling faintly around the Combinatoric (something in the motion struck Arcee as familiar), before it vanished.

Apparently, they'd failed whatever test it had intended for them.

“Now,” Switchgear looked to Arcee, “we just have to figure out how to get it to work.” The sight of the Combinatoric had driven all other thoughts from his head. He'd forgotten he was talking with an Autobot, forgotten that they were in the middle of a dangerous battlefield, surrounded by their enemies, forgotten everything except for this otherworldly thing before them, darker than the shadows around it and older than the ground it rested on.

“There's a riddle,” Arcee began.

“Yes! I've seen some of the inscriptions, but never all of them at once. Let's see...” He began to translate, though the unreliable surface of the artifact was giving him just as much trouble as it was Arcee. She began to join in, reciting the lines that she knew from memory. “Oh, that's—you're absolutely right, 'infinity' is a much better translation, given the context. Where did you learn this?”

“Optimus,” she said simply.

“Oh! Of course.” Switchgear knew their leader had been an archivist. “Now... I am guessing we need to figure out what kind of weapon it is if we're to activate it, somehow. But I do not think that either of us here can wield it.”

“'The noblest power,'” Arcee quoted.

“Right,” Switchgear said.

Amalgamous Prime was the shiftiest of the Thirteen—as the name of his shape-changing descendents, the Shifters, implied. The first thing to remember about Amalgamous Prime was that he would often go out of his way to trick others, even when it wasn't directly beneficial to him. Some scholars said that this was because of an inherent flaw in his nature that even he was compelled to obey. Some say it was because he found it hilarious.

“Sever the flow all lines to the spark,” Arcee mused. “Some sort of blade?”

“Maybe—lines to the spark? Is that what you gathered from the translation?” Switchgear looked to her in surprise. “We were missing that bit.”

Arcee gave him a look.

“Right, right focus. ...hm, still, I think the wording itself is important, if this is meant to be a riddle.  The glyph for 'flow' also seems to carry an additional connotation, as if it were more than just a line—a pathway, perhaps. A road, even. The spark, or heart... yes, I can see where you picked up that, it seems to make sense. The center, is what it says...”

Arcee shook her head and cut off his rambling. “Not sure how that helps us. It says it undoes all defenses. Maybe it shuts the enemy down?”

“You're probably going to hit me for this, but I have to bring up a point of translation here--” Arcee hit him. She didn't hit him hard, though, and Switchgear went on, “The glyphwork here seems to indic—wait no, it's here, there we are. This thing keeps moving, somehow... I want to say 'penetrate,' but it's more than just undoing, the connotations are something that—that makes something undo itself from within--”

“Unlocks?” Arcee asked with a frown.

This time Switchgear hit her, but he did so in enthusiasm, whapping her on the shoulder. “That's it! That's exactly it! I am that which unlocks all defenses. ...hmm, now that's tricky.”

The second thing to remember about Amalgamous Prime was that he was second-happiest when he knew something someone else does not.

Arcee frowned. “Unlocks all defenses...” Something Switchgear had said in the back of her mind nagged at her. A road? “Unlocks a door of some kind? What sort of metaphorical door could it be referring to?” She placed a hand over her spark chamber.

“Unlocks a gate, maybe,” Swichgear murmured.

Arcee looked sharply towards him. In her mind's eye she could still see the swirl of glowing energy that had briefly surrounded them when the Combinatoric had acknowledged their presence. It had seemed familiar to her then, and now she knew where he had seen it before. “That which guards infinity...” she murmured. “That which unlocks the roads of the spark...”

Switchgear had gone very still, mentally running the words Arcee had recited to him through his mind. “The centermost place. And unravel—unveil that which is unseen. Unknown? Reveal the unknown? A road that reveals the unknown?”

They both fell silent and stared at one another.

The third thing to remember about Amalgamous Prime was that he was happiest when he had convinced someone else to know something that was wrong. 

“It's not a weapon,” Arcee whispered.

“It's a gate,” Switchgear whispered back.

No sooner had they spoken that the glyphs along the surface of the Combinatoric began to blaze with a light too bright to look at. The air itself began to tremble, and a wave of force knocked them both over. They scrambled to raise themselves up. The Combinatorial rose, balancing on its point, and pivoted slowly in the air, the harsh and complex angles of its form shimmering faster, distorting its shape to an impossible clash of geometries. Switchgear and Arcee had to look away.

And then it shot up into the air. The roof exploded upwards and outwards, the walls buckled and shivered away, and another wave of force swept it all contemptuously back. The trembling in the air became a rumble, and the sounds of the pitched battle that surrounded them faltered and then died as the glowing artifact rose higher, hovering above the battlefield. The rumbling continued. Reality itself seemed to be shuddering, as if it didn't want to touch this strange and powerful thing that was hovering in the air.

And then, as the last of the gunfire died, stunned into silence, a new sound rang through the air, strange yet unmistakable, that shook all the surroundings beings to their respective cores. It was a low, dark noise that emanated from the Combinatoric itself.

It was the sound of laughter.

 


End file.
